The GRID
by cuter-than-a-guinea-pig
Summary: Seven years after an unfortunate break up, Blaine runs into Kurt again. But a lot has changed in those seven years and Blaine is now fighting for his life. Loosely based on the movie Philomena. HIV/AIDS!Blaine, major character death.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: alrighty guys, I'm really excited for this one! It's based loosely off the movie **_**Philomena.**_** So if you're familiar with the movie, this is the story of the son's life. If you haven't seen the movie (which I highly recommend) absolutely no worries. Everything will still make sense. So just a warning I guess for those that haven't seen the movie, Blaine is dying of AIDS. Updates should be roughly once a week. **

**I really hope you like it! b/c I'm actually really excited about this one.  
Let me know what you think  
-Katie  
_**

In April of 1981, Sandra Ford, a drug technician from Atlanta noticed an unusual demand for pentamine. Pentamine was used to treat Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia, a rare lung infection. A doctor was treating a gay man in his 20s and had asked for a refill. No one ever asked for refills. Over the ten day single dose treatment the patient would either be cured or would die. This patient had done neither. She reported the case to the Center for Disease Control.

Over the months that followed, the CDC began to track this mysterious illness that began popping up within communities of gay men throughout the United States. Pneumonia and Kaposi's Sarcoma, a rare and relatively benign skin cancer, seemed to be the form this death sentence was handed down in. No one knew what it was or how it was spread. It didn't even have a name. Eventually it would come to be known as AIDS and not only decimate the gay communities it originated in but spread quickly to the wider population throughout the globe. It did not prey on only the gay, as once was thought. It preyed on anything human. In 1982 however, still trapped within the pockets of San Francisco and New York, it was dubbed gay related immune deficiency, or GRID.

January 1993

It was a little overwhelming to say the least. Blaine hadn't been out to the clubs in a while. He forgot how loud the music was. Initially he had welcomed the unrelenting beats and perfectly rhymed pop-y lyrics. His ears had filtered so much bullshit lately and the club music helped drown out the echoes. He was now however, slightly concerned about the vibrations he could feel pulse through his heart. It was even becoming hard to think. Blaine chuckled a little and shook his head at himself. Not thinking, escaping it all was the point. That's why he was here, sitting at the bar with a rum and coke scanning the writhing orgy pit of young primal men working out their frustrations by grinding on strangers just as drunk and sweaty and scarcely clothed as they were. Every once in while a couple would break away from the pack and make their way towards the bar and Blaine's hide out. It was always the same. Their smiles would be bright and fall with ease and without thought over their faces. Their hands would drape over each other's skin and Blaine would be able to see sweat bead beneath their groping fingers in the best of ways and smell the pheromones that radiated from their alive and wanting bodies. It was mesmerizing. He could almost get lost in it all just sitting on the side lines and watching the boys move in ways that were reminiscent of his own during his youth when his body would be just another in crowd. That lighthouse guiding him back to shore, home, reality was ever so slightly present though in the way his pager felt heavy on his hip and its clasp was making his skin itch or the way his too tight shirt bunched and clung in weird places. Blaine thought his brain might explode if he actually latched on to one of the boys at the bar – it's not like they would notice another pair of strange hands – and let them lead him out on the dance floor but that was what he wanted. To go back. To get lost. To forget. That's why he was here but the dance floor was just too far.

Blaine sighed and downed the rest of his rum and coke. He fiddled with his dark grey burn out t-shirt to no success. He allowed his eyes to follow the two boys who had been waiting on drinks return to the dance floor hoping that his body and mind would somehow join them. He watched as they moved effortlessly through the crowd, just going with the flow and the beat in a way Blaine knew he never could. When they found their spot, the one leading, wearing a fluorescent pink mesh muscle tank turned back to his boyfriend – date? Soon to be one night stand? – and wrapped his arms around his neck, balancing his drink with practiced ease, and pulled him close. They blended seamlessly, as if they had never left and Blaine's eyes wandered to the couple beside them. This second couple held his attention. The shorter of the two had dark, messy curls, like his own when he refrained from hair gel. He was wearing a tight blue button with the top several buttons undone and a white bow tie hanging untied around his neck. Blaine remembered quite vividly how the undressing process always began well before anyone got home. His dance partner was slightly taller and had lighter brown hair that, as far as Blaine could tell from across the club, he had styled into the perfect coif. He was wearing a tight, neon purple v-neck with a black vest that hung open. Blaine blinked his eyes a few times trying to clear the alcohol that he has earlier been actively trying to get into his system. The two boys just looked so similar to himself and his ex, like he was looking through an old home video of his life from seven years ago. His slightly tipsy vision mimicked the poor quality footage. The taller boy even danced like his ex. His movements were in rhythm to the music but they were still awkward in a way. They were jerky and his thrusts thrusted a little too far one way and then even further back the other way. He didn't care though. He was out there living, free from judgment and responsibility. Until he wasn't. It seemed as if it was their turn to get refreshments and Blaine watched as they pushed through the crowd towards him. As they got closer the home video collapsed. The shorter boy was too short and his eyes were smaller and blue. Blaine waited for the moment when the taller boy would no longer look like his ex but that point never came.

"Blaine?"

"K-Kurt! Hi," he stuttered, blinking again, still not believing what he was seeing.

"Oh my god, how are you?" Kurt asked leaning in for a hug. The alcohol Blaine could smell on his breath explained the happy reunion despite their not so happy break up. He was still a little stunned though. The slight gasoline scent combined with the weight and the warmth however, proved to Blaine that Kurt was real and there and not some figment of his imagination. After confirming that he wasn't an alcohol induced mirage, Blaine wrapped his own arms around Kurt's waist. It was short. Kurt was already starting to pull back but the awkward fumbling still managed to feel good. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I'm surprised too. Trying to keep a low profile." Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. There was a hint of sympathy though that had disappeared completely in the last several months they had been together. It was hidden in the small smile he gave Blaine in response. It definitely wasn't a happy smile, not like the bright grin he had greeted him with initially. It was more of a disappointed and yet understanding look. Blaine didn't mind though. It was the best he could ask for really.

"Well, let me buy you a drink," he conceded, hitting Blaine playfully on the shoulder.

"Oh, no." Blaine shook his head. "No. You don't need to do that. I've already had too much anyways."

"Please, you're still sitting up straight. Stiff as a bored."

"Um, what about your date?" Blaine whispered, glancing over at the shorter boy with the untied bow tie dangling around his neck. He was leaning against the bar beside where Blaine was seated looking out over the dance floor and paying them no attention.

"Oh, no worries. I don't even know his name. We just kinda clicked out on the floor. See." Blaine looked back at the boy who had now vacated his leaning spot and was walking at an impressive clip across the club, his eyes seemingly fixed on something. Blaine followed his gaze and was met with a tall, buff, shirtless guy, holding two drinks in his hand, one out reached in the direction of Kurt's former dance partner.

"I do." Blaine shook his head with a laugh.

"What?" Kurt asked taking the vacant bar stool beside him.

"Nothing. It's just nothing's changed has it?"

"Well I wouldn't say nothing. But, I mean, why would it? We're young, we're healthy, this is still one of the few places to meet guys so why not take a few for a test drive. It the only way to find the perfect model."

"Still haven't found it yet?"

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. He turned to look at Blaine and Blaine held his gaze that seemed oddly intense to be paired with the aloof shrug. Before either of them could say something else however, the bartender came over. "Can I get you guys something?"

"Ah, yes," Kurt answered. "A rum and coke? If I'm remembering correctly," he said turning back to Blaine to confirm. "And a vodka slime."

The bartender nodded and Kurt pulled out a ten from his pocket and placed it on the counter. "Don't you think I should be getting the drinks?" Blaine asked.

"No. It's tradition," Kurt answered simply with a bright grin. "Or have you forgot?"

Blaine shook his head. "How could I?"

February 1979

Blaine shoved his hands in his pockets as he entered the club. It wasn't his first time. Not by far. But he had always come with somebody else before. He had never been by himself, without and hand to hold, arm to offer, or waist to grip. He felt a little lost. He decided a drink would loosen him up a bit and turned towards the bar but before could even take a step, a tall guy, with muscles bulging form his tight short sleeved v-neck stepped infront of him and hooked a finger in his bowtie.

"This is cute," he said and Blaine almost melted at the British accent that came rolling out.

"So are you," he answered, not missing a beat and not even a minute later he was grinding his denim constrain dick against the British boy's surrounded by others doing just the same. He definitely made the right call in coming here tonight instead of the library he'd been all but living in the past couple weeks.

They were at the bar, waiting for the bartender to take their orders when Blaine asked him if he wanted to come home with him. He hadn't had a drink all night but he didn't really need one. Getting his dick out of his far too tight jeans was what he really need, especially if there was someone else in his bedroom doing them same. British boy looked eager but before they could take a step towards the door, British boy's friends swarmed them and constrained him when neither of them could tell them the other's name. Blaine sighed as he watched British boy being dragged away, and took a seat at the bar. He looked around for a while but no one else really caught his eye.

"Is this seat taken," a voice asked from over his shoulder. He had been sitting there for half an hour, turned away from the dance floor in a tentative defeat.

"Uh, no." Blaine watched as the other guy sat down beside him. He was taller than British boy and had some arm definition but not as much. His eyes were gorgeous though. They shimmered, bright blue, in the dim light of the club.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm uh, actually about to head out."

"So you really are new. Don't worry. I don't bite. Most of us don't."

Blaine laughed. "No, no. I've been here before. I just have an exam tomorrow."

"An exam?"

"The Bar."

"Ooh a lawyer. Well now I really have to buy you a drink. I would kill myself if I let a lawyer slip through my grasp."

"I can take a rain check. I really should be heading."

"No can do. You came out tonight. You knew what you were getting into," he said, pointing and waving his index finger at Blaine in a scolding type manner. "Now, what d'you drink?"

"Uh, rum and coke, I guess," Blaine answered in defeat. The guy was cute. Too cute to say no to. And the smile he received for his order was absolutely adorable. And yet with the way his white jeans hugged his perky ass, and how forward he was, Blaine had no doubt that the adorable stopped at the bedroom door. And with the inspiring lyrics of Rod Stewarts 'Da Ya Think I'm Sexy' coursing through the club, this time he was taking no chances. "I'm Blaine, by the way," he said, offering his hand to shake.

"Kurt." Kurt offered his own hand. "Firm. Very lawyer-y."

"Yeah, no objections?"

Kurt licked his bottom lip and caught it between his teeth. "None."

January 1993

It wasn't long before the catching up had been put on hold and Blaine had follow Kurt out onto the dance floor, his hands firm around the narrow waist he remembered so well. In his defence, a club was not a place to talk and a crowded dance floor made it too easy to get separated, especially for someone like him who was out of practice. He let Kurt find them a spot and smiled and pulled him close when he finally stopped walking and turned to face him. Alcohol had nothing on the buzz he got when Kurt actually let him pull him close and returned the gesture, wrapping his own arms around Blaine's neck. It was like the world disappeared. Other people kept bumping into them but their rhythm was never disrupted. Kurt kept thrusting a little too far one way and even further back the other way and Blaine simply held on and followed with absolutely no care to how they looked to others. Because the others didn't exist in their little space of heat and sweat and a bubbling want that Blaine had forgotten he possessed. The music urged them on, its beat physically reverberating within his body and forcing him closer and closer to the boy who was once again in his arms. It forced all other thought from his mind other than Kurt, his long legs, swaying hips, his still oh so perky ass that still filled out Blaine's hands and pushed back against them whenever his dick wasn't pushing forwards. Blaine buried his nose in Kurt's neck, reveling in the low cut of the v-neck. And then he buried his mouth. It smelled faintly of his cologne that Blaine remembered from years before. It was damp from sweat and Blaine happily licked and nipped and sucked at the perfectly pale skin. He could feel Kurt's fingers working into his gelled hair at the base of his neck and cursed himself for not washing it out before he came because Kurt's hands in his hair felt so good. Kurt's other hand traveled down his back and rucked up his t-shirt resting against his bare skin. Blaine pushed back against the hand, melting in its warmth and sure grip. He felt Kurt trust his pelvis forward, chasing the friction he must have lost. Blaine couldn't complain, letting out an inaudible moan at the contact. This was it. This is what he had been looking for. What he needed.

He pulled Kurt from the club sometime later. He had no idea how long they had been lost on the dance floor. Time was irrelevant out there, with Kurt, and he was in no hurry to return to the ticking clock. He held Kurt's hand tight, even when they were out on the street hailing a cab and throughout the ride back to his house. Kurt made some comment about impressive size and the impressive neighbourhood that Blaine ignored in favour for sucking harder on Kurt's neck and pushing the black vest from his broad shoulders. Blaine's t-shirt was next to go. Earlier he had wanted rid of it because of all the awkward bunching but now all he could think of was bare skin. His, Kurt's, together, touching. Nothing else crossed his mind. Kurt worked his belt off, taking pause to eye his pager in disdain but he was either truly over the past or still too drunk to care. Blaine guessed it mostly the second but then Kurt's lips were on his and his fingers were back undoing his button and unzipping his fly and giving him one more forceful grind before shoving his pants down. He cupped him and rubbed him through his boxer briefs and Blaine moaned and writhed in his hand. He squeezed Kurt's ass and then moved his hands up gripping the bottom of his purple shirt. Kurt backed away, pulling his shirt over his head and turning to Blaine's desk and folding it neatly on top. Blaine laughed at the familiarity and crossed the room to Kurt, coming up behind him, pressing his bare chest to the now bare, lean and muscular back, his dick to the round and perky ass, and burring his face once again into his neck.

"Some things never change," he mumbled against the already bruised skin.

"I could say the same thing."

Blaine laughed again and snaked his hands around to the front of Kurt's waist and began working his pants open and down as well.

They were naked soon enough and Kurt pushed his way past Blaine, sauntering to the bed. Blaine's eyes were glued to his now naked ass that he was swaying with purpose. Kurt turned back with a smirk on his face but it was quickly wiped away when he slipped on a piece of paper discarded on the floor. Blaine watched in horror as he fell to the bed, laughing high and light once his body hit the soft landing and he realized no damage was done. But to Blaine the damage was done. He watched the piece of white paper flutter in the air and float down to its new spot on the floor. With each inch it fell, Blaine was pulled further and further from Kurt and back to the reality he had been so desperate to escape. The reality that dictated so clearly that they couldn't be together. He stumbled back towards his desk and braced himself on it shaking his head.

"Blaine?" He heard faintly, as if being called awake from a dream. Except it was Kurt that was the dream. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I can't." He shook his head frantically. His eyes comically wide and now glued to the piece of paper. "I can't. I can't. I can't."

"Oh my god, Blaine. Blaine. It's okay. It's okay. It's me. You're okay."

"No I'm not. Kurt, I can't."

He watched, frozen as Kurt stood up slowly from the bed and walked over to the piece of paper. He hesitated before bending down to pick it up. Blaine didn't stop him. He watched as Kurt read it. He watched as the confusion turned to heartbreak.

"Y-you're positive."

Blaine only nodded, a sob issuing before he could stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: dear fucking god. Like a day after I posted the first chapter I came up with a much better title. I still think this one is brilliant (for reasons that will become even clearer in a few more chapters…hopefully) but fuck this other one is even better. I suppose that's life. Or mine anyways. But yeah, thanks to everyone who followed. Feel free to let me know what you think so far. **

**Enjoy  
-Katie**

* * *

February 1979

* * *

He was wrong. The adorable definitely did not stop at the bedroom door but Blaine quickly learned that that didn't mean Kurt couldn't get his heart pounding and his dick throbbing. It was quite the opposite actually. There was something alluring about his light, airy giggle as he fell backwards onto the bed. It was so carefree and pure like the pink flush that decorated his cheeks the moment Blaine pulled his tight briefs from his hips. He was so open and true in a way no other guy Blaine had slept with had been. Although it's not as if Blaine blamed them. One night stands or fuck buddy situations were not really the place to bare one's soul. Blaine certainly didn't. And yet, watching Kurt try to scoot up the bed, his long, lean limbs flailing like a fawn trying to stand for the first time, made him want to pounce and ravish without a second thought.

"Oof. Your bed is so squishy. It's hard to move." Other guys would have said it like it was a bad thing, something Blaine should feel guilty for to cover their own embarrassment. But with Kurt, it was a simple comment at worst. Once he had struggled his way to the head board he bounced himself a little. "Comfy though," he said with a smile.

"Yeah?" Blaine asked, crawling up the bed towards him. He still tried to keep his movements a little more coordinated.

"Mhmm. Perfect for sleeping, and snuggling, and most importantly," he now whispered, wrapping a hand around the back of Blaine's neck and pulling him in so that their lips were grazing. "For fucking."

A shiver ran up Blaine's spine and he lunged his whole body forwards into Kurt's. Kurt eagerly accepted and kissed him hard and deep. Blaine felt himself being pulled even closer as Kurt wrapped a leg around his hip, grinding their pelvises together just as if they were back on the dance floor. But they weren't on the dance floor. They were naked and in Blaine's bed and even though there was no intoxicating music, Kurt's skin, it's smoothness, softness, sweaty in parts and pink while as pale as ivory in others was even better. He moaned into Kurt's mouth, swallowing Kurt's own and began to rock with him.

He fumbled blindly for the lube in his bedside drawer, unable to tear himself away from Kurt's kiss and grasp. "I think I was right," Kurt giggled.

"About what?" he mumbled, reconnecting their lips.

"That you're new." Kurt flipped them over and sat up, successfully locating the small bottle.

"I have lube," Blaine countered.

"I see that." Kurt opened the bottle and poured a little into the palm of his hand. Blaine watched as he brought his hand down to his own dick and began stroking. "That could simply mean you lie here all day by yourself."

"Well aren't you going to be in for a shock then?"

"Yeah?" Kurt asked, smirking but leaning back down to resume their earlier kissing. Blaine also noticed the way his hand disappeared from his dick and slipped behind himself.

"Oh yeah."

There was more rocking and grinding and kissing and biting and sucking. Blaine loved feeling Kurt's body tremble beneath his fingers as he stretched himself. He trembled himself at the thought that soon he would be the one causing the stretch and hitting that spot. Blaine was so lost in the feeling and the image of what was to come that he didn't notice Kurt's hand return but this time to his dick, warm and slick. He bucked into it, biting down probably a little too hard on the apex of Kurt's broad shoulder and slender neck.

"Ready to prove your case, Mr. Lawyer?"

Blaine answered by flipping them over so he was once again on top. His legs were already nestled between Kurt's, who spread his willing as Blaine moved forward. While Kurt shuffled a pillow under his hips, Blaine placed one hand just above his shoulder and let his thumb brush back and forth over the barely visible teeth marks. He used his other to guide himself to the slick, pink pucker that continuously clenched and unclenched in want and then slowly through the first ring of muscle. He watched Kurt carefully to make sure he wasn't in pain. It was hard to read someone he had known for less than half a day but he always tried his best. He waited for Kurt to adjust, leaning down to press a light kiss to his shoulder. Kurt hummed happily in his ear. Not only did the quite rumble cause a smile of his own but it had a calming effect that made it easier for Blaine to hold still and continue his kisses inwards towards Kurt's neck. As he dipped his tongue into the hollow of his collar bone, Kurt began to rock up into him. Lifting his head to make sure Kurt was still okay, he began to thrust his hips forwards and down. Another happy hum licked at his ear and Blaine settled his mouth back into that perfect curve where Kurt's neck met his shoulder.

There was little rhythm. Another difficulty with one night stands. But that certainly did not ruin the fun. Blaine was still very much high on the clubbing atmosphere of letting his hormones find a total stranger to dance with and grope before stripping naked in his bed and fucking without a second thought. It was all adrenaline and maybe a bit of the musky cologne that drifted off Kurt's neck but whatever it was, it was certainly enough.

Blaine tilted his head and watched as Kurt reached between them and jacked himself off. The sight of him spilling onto his clenching abs, mimicking the clenching Blaine could feel around his dick and the breathy gasp in his ear as Kurt's hands gripped tighter to his back pulled Blaine right over the edge with him.

He collapsed beside Kurt shortly after, panting lightly, everything still warm a fuzzy in that way it always was after good sex that was in a way sort of strange to experience with a stranger. He didn't feel better when Kurt stood up from the bed though.

"Where you goin'?"

"Washroom?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Just the next door to your left."

His alarm already set, Blaine let himself drift in his haze, scooting closer to the warm spot Kurt had vacated. He didn't find himself completely content however until Kurt snuggled back into bed behind him.

"Verdict?" he mumbled.

"The jury finds the defendant not guilty."

"Is that in my favour?"

"Yes? I don't know. You're the lawyer."

* * *

January 1993

* * *

He didn't know when he had sunk to the floor but he was there. The carpet was scratchy against his naked skin. The desk leg was hard against his back. He lifted his head from where it was buried in his hands when he heard the rough slide of his dresser drawers. Kurt was rifling through them. For what, Blaine didn't know. He just watched in silence while the tears continued to stream down his puffy cheeks. He saw a smile appear on Kurt's face and then he was walking over to him, two sweaters in hand. Both were a deep royal blue with white block lettering. Kurt handed him the one that spelled out University of Notre Dame du Lac. His fingers curled tightly around the soft fabric and he hugged it close to his chest. In a way he didn't feel worthy anymore. He didn't want to taint it. There was a reason this one was his and the other was Kurt's. Kurt pulled the other, the one that spelled out George Washington University, over his head. He then reached down beside Blaine to collect his briefs and Blaine watched as he pulled them up his incredibly long and lean legs. He sat down in front of Blaine, crossing his legs and reaching his hands out to Blaine's knees. Another sob escaped Blaine's lips at the contact but the reassuring stoking of his thumbs was a welcomed comfort in his new blacked world.

"Do you want to come to bed?" Kurt asked after a long silence, his thumbs still stroking and his hands still sure on his knees.

Blaine nodded without looking up from the white crest stitched onto the shoulder of the blue fabric. Within the crest was a cross and book opened to a page which read Vita Dulcedo Spes. He was alive. His sweetness had finally returned. But hope. He had lost all of his hope. Kurt stood but he didn't move. His knees felt cold. A hand tugged on his arm. It didn't let go so Blaine climbed slowly to his feet. The hand then pulled at the fabric he held so tightly.

"B. Come on," he coaxed softly. He let go, his eyes following the sweater as Kurt took it and turned it around in his hands, bunching it up, and then placing it over his head. Blaine allowed himself to be dressed. "There. That's better isn't it? Now," Kurt began, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed. "Are you going to work tomorrow? Does your alarm need to be set?"

"It's already set."

"Do you want to take the day off?"

Blaine shook his head. He smiled a little when Kurt rolled his eyes. "Thank-you."

Kurt just wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him close. Blaine brought his arms around Kurt's waist and let himself sink into the warmth and strength.

* * *

Blaine had never loved the Democratic General Assembly of North Carolina more. The I-85 district was a joke. Parts of it were literally no wider than the highway. Significantly long parts of it. There was no wonder it was named after the highway since it consisted mostly of the concrete road rather than a town. It was a wonder however why anyone thought it was acceptable. It was created to join several small African-American communities to create a majority-minority district. Blaine could appreciate the want for more equal representation within the government but this windy, zig-zagged, mess was not the way to go about it. They were taking it to court in three months and legal preparations always kept him busy. His mind was only pulled away from the Democrat's idiocy for a five minute phone call from Kurt offering to meet him down town for dinner after his finished work. Blaine agreed happily and buried himself back into his extensive notes until six thirty.

"Coming for drinks?" Quinn asked, popping her head in the door to his office just as he was putting on his coat.

"Not tonight. Thanks though."

"Gotta hot date?" she asked jokingly.

"Yeah, actually. Sorta. I'm going to dinner with Kurt."

"With Kurt? I didn't know you guys were back together."

"Well we're not exactly. I just ran into him again last night," he said as they walked together to the elevator.

Kurt was waiting for him just outside, leaning on one of the building's decorative columns. Quinn gave him a small wave before saying goodbye to Blaine and heading down the street to the office's after work hang out.

"Good day?" Kurt asked.

"As good as it could be I guess. I should show you this mess in North Carolina. It's like the definition of gerrymandering."

"But is it hurting anyone?" Kurt asked as they began to walk in the opposite direction as Quinn.

"It's hurting the legal foundation of this country." Kurt gave him a point look. "What? It's true. Without a legal foundation we have nothing."

"Without basic humanity we have nothing. You don't need a law to know you shouldn't kill someone."

"No, I know. It's common sense. That's what I'm saying. This… this thing defies all common sense."

"Of geometry maybe. But geometry isn't everything."

"Parts of it are just the highway, Kurt. Literally. Just the highway. No one lives on the highway."

"Well you tell'em, B."

"Oh, I will. You have no idea."

Kurt shook his head and smiled fondly at him, opening the door to a restaurant attached to one of the city's many fancy hotels. He put his work away when he set his brief case down under the table. His job had always been a touchy subject. Kurt's on the other hand was much less controversial and usually just as exciting if not more.

"So?" he asked, after the waiter had taken their drink orders. "You working on anything right now?"

"Uh, yeah, actually," Kurt said, placing his menu down and bouncing a little out of excitement in his seat. "I'm writing a musical."

"A musical?" Blaine said, a little shocked and a lot impressed.

"Mhmm." Blaine smiled fondly watching Kurt preen.

"So you've found someone to write the music."

"Yeah. Do remember Sam at all?"

"Yeah. Guitar," he nodded.

"Right so we're kinda doing it together. Because you know the lyrics are so intertwined to the story and well, it's Sam."

"That's what I was thinking," Blaine laughed. "But he's doing it."

"Oh yeah. And like he's into it. I've found people's interest tends to drop pretty quick. What are you getting?"

"Oh. Uh, I thought the burger looked good."

"Mhmm. With fries?" Blaine nodded but Kurt shook his head. "Salad."

"Ummm?" Kurt just gave him another one of his signature pointed looks, his head tilted to the side and an eyebrow raised. Blaine looked back at him quizzically. Kurt had never commented on his diet before and they had lived together. Kurt didn't let up though and then it hit him. "O-oh," he said in a kind of barely there voice, looking away from Kurt.

"Sorry."

"No no. You're right."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Kurt mumbled with his head in his hands. He looked seconds away from banging it against the table.

"No it's fine. Kurt, it's fine." Kurt looked up at him, a wince on his face. "I need to start dealing with this. Too many fries for too many years."

"You know when you got it?"

"Yup. I randomly saw the guy on the street three weeks ago. There was no mistaking him. He was probably the hottest guy I'd ever seen. Some faces are just too pretty to forget, you know."

Kurt nodded and nudged his foot under the table. "Oh, I know."

Blaine rolled his eyes but smiled. Although it faded quickly as he continued. "Yeah, and well the circumstances of our hook up were…" Blaine shook his head. "Well anyways, I saw him and he had the sores on his face. I stopped dead. There was no mistaking them but I did the whole 'oh they're just bruises or hickeys' thing. But who gets a hickey on their forehead. Then I stood there and did the math. Trust me, you don't despise math until…"

"Until you're doing the whole 'was that within ten years' thing," Kurt finished for him.

"I just stared once I had exhausted all my options. He was across the street, smoking and talking to someone so he didn't see me. But at that point I didn't really care if he did. I was just so horrified. I've seen them before and all and I've seen people look worse along but this was the first time it was really like looking in a mirror. My skin started itching and I must have turned around to start walking in different directions like ten times. It was just panic. One. He was the only one since the outbreak. We were just plastered. I was headed to the gym but I ended up at the clinic. And then went home and sobbed."

"Wow," Kurt said softly. "That was really brave to go alone."

Blaine scoffed. "I just wasn't brave enough to tell anyone."

Kurt nodded and reached his hand across the table to hold his. It was warm and solid in grip despite being in public and despite that fact that he was sick. And when the waiter came back to take their orders and Kurt had to let go, his foot found Blaine's again and rubbed up and down ever so slightly, mimicking the lost movement of his thumb across his hand. It continued to do so throughout dinner.

After eating Kurt lead him across the lobby of the hotel and into the bar. A friend he was trying to track down for his musical was apparently one of the bartenders. Or at least he was two weeks ago. Kurt hung out with some eclectic people. They were far too much for Blaine to handle on a daily basis but he did admit that maybe on a more bi-weekly schedule they could be a nice change of pace.

To Kurt's luck he spotted him and promised Blaine he would only be a minute. He had to laugh, all be it fondly, as Kurt all but speed walked across the room and up to this guy. He was just not about to let him slip away Blaine guessed but it was quite a sight in the otherwise quiet bar.

Blaine looked around while he waited. There weren't many people and the ones that were there looked very put together, suits and ties, Rolex watches, dresses meant for the boardroom. None of them seemed to be overly enjoying themselves and yet Blaine had hunch that they would be offended none the less if they were to be disturbed. He spotted a black baby grand piano tucked into a dark corner that somehow seemed lonelier than the singly occupied booths. Drawn to it, Blaine crossed the bar to its corner. Its surface was clean but when he lifted up the key cover, the keys were covered in dust. Careful not to press the key, he swiped his finger over it. Its ivory gleaned so brightly now free of its sickly grey soot. An unexplainable amount of anger flood Blaine at the injustice of allowing such a beautiful instrument rot under a lack of appreciation. He sat down on the bench and placed his right hand on the lowest note and dragged it up the scales, letting all the keys breathe again and sing out into the depressing bar. This got everyone's attention but Blaine didn't care. He started to play. It was one of the few songs he still remembered but it was the one he would never forget. And when the cue came he began to sing as well.

_Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,  
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side,  
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,  
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide._

Blaine sang with his head down, looking at the keys even though his fingers didn't need the guidance. He looked up towards the end of the second verse, his eyes falling on Kurt as he sang "Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so." It was never a conscious plan but it felt right. It felt so right that his eyes remained on Kurt anchoring him in a way he didn't expect to need as the song went on and the lyrics turned to a boy standing at a grave. The song flowed from him in a way it never had before, tears welling in his eyes over the song that was once just pretty and patriotic but was now a glimpse into the future. Kurt held his gaze until the end when Blaine ducked his head to wipe quickly at his tears during the unexpected applause.

Blaine made his way slowly back to Kurt. He was trying to bide himself some time to regain a little composure or come up with some sort of explanation. He wasn't slow enough, still feeling like an utter mess by the time they were face to face. Kurt glanced around briefly before taking his hand and dragging him outside.

It was raining now and the cold of the January night had set in. Before it could seep into Blaine's skin though, Kurt had moved to stand directly in front of him so that their bodies were touching. Kurt brought his hands up to cup both of Blaine cheeks and slowly pressed their lips together. Soft and sweet. Free of the urgency and alcohol and hormones from the night before. This was the next verse to the song on his lips and he let himself be kissed in the rain by the boy he had always loved. He didn't know if he'd ever get to again.

"I'm dying," he whispered when Kurt pulled away, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. "You don't want this."


	3. Chapter 3

January 1993

* * *

Kurt wiped at Blaine's tears with his thumbs. "Of course I do. I've wanted you always. Always. I want you. I want this. I want you."

"But before-"

Kurt shook his head and cut him off. "Don't worry about before. You of all people should know there's no use dwelling on the past. It doesn't change anything. Then or now."

"What about tomorrow though?" Blaine asked, his eyes turned down to the wet cement sidewalk, his forehead resting against Kurt's. It was all just too heavy. His life had been so stagnant for so long. It wasn't bad. It wasn't stagnant like the air that builds up around the city garbage dump in the sweltering heat of summer. Where nauseating stench just sits and seeps into your lungs and clothes and skin and it becomes impossible to breathe and it's impossible to imagine how anything can live in the toxic environment. No his life wasn't teetering on the brink of death as he gasped for clean oxygen. The stagnancy was more like the first bottle of cologne he'd ever bought. He was in university and broke so he'd only had enough money for one. He was also just tip toeing out of the closet and for some reason that meant using more. Most likely because some cute guy at a club told him smelled good one night. And it did smell good. He bought it after all. But after a couple years it lost its excitement, squirting it on his neck just became routine, boring. He loved his job. He loved pumping extraordinary amounts of coffee into his body to pull all-nighters doing research. He loved finding all the little holes and plugging them up. He loved finding the holes the others guys missed so he could tear into them when they went to trial. It was thrilling in a way. He loved being the smartest man in the room and being able to prove it. But it had been proved now, every day for seven years and that affirmation was now all he had. He didn't want any of that to disappear but he wanted someone else in that room with him.

But now, now everything had changed. His work was finally taking a back seat to some other part of his life that was pulling him in a brand new direction. But it was a direction he did not want, one that he thought he had escaped. And it was pulling too fast. He was supposed to have another forty years at least but he did the math. It was a simple as counting to ten. A child could do it. One two, buckle my shoe. Three four, shut the door. And so on until nine ten, you've reached your end.

* * *

September 1983

* * *

He looked out over the rows of tomb stones to the cherry blossom tree. Today it was five rows down and three over. Last weekend it was ten rows down and one over. Being closer he could see the slight brown tint on some of the leaves. Blaine wondered if they had seen so many funerals that they thought dying was all there was to life and had decided it was their turn. Sometimes he felt like that.

He had seen those very leaves bud. He had seen the bare brown branches come alive and cover themselves in vibrant green. He'd seen the green turn to baby pink and had seen the petals fall and cover the grass in the pink snow of spring. They then went back to green and had stayed that way, providing shade and refuge, until now. Soon the ground would be covered in rustic coloured leaves and the branches would be bare. He remembered how they crunched under his feet from last year. And the year before that.

In some ways it was becoming easier. He knew what to wear. He'd usually just picked it up from the dry cleaners. He knew what to bring. He didn't really cry anymore. And Kurt's tears were far more contained.

It was as if all their lives had come to a standstill while they watched their friends die. This is what they did on Saturdays now. No country house, no hobbies, no clubs, no office socials, no driving up to visit the family. All the funerals now took place on weekends because it quickly became apparent that too many people would miss too much work otherwise. It wasn't everyone though. The rest of the world kept turning beyond the cherry blossom tree. Before leaving the office yesterday, Quinn had asked him if he was coming to the office golf tournament today. "Can't. I uh, I have to go to a funeral." Kyle's.

"Didn't you go to one last weekend?" she asked as if he was just making an excuse.

"Yeah." Richie's. Kyle's boyfriend. Who was more like a husband if the law would allow it.

He felt Kurt's head come to rest upon his shoulder. He wrapped a hand around his waist and pulled him close. He knew what he was thinking. It was what they all thought. This wasn't what funerals were supposed to look like. Family members were supposed to be there, saying the eulogy. Friends were supposed to old. They were supposed to be using walkers or confined to wheel chairs because of their age not a disease that would bring them to the plot just feet away by the next weekend.

In that way it was getting harder. The men standing beside them were dwindling in numbers. And there was still no end in sight. It had been close to three years now and no one knew what it was or how to stop it. Few outside Dupont Circle seemed to care. Blaine wasn't really a screamer. He thought the body count would be sign enough but on funeral days, the rage began to bubble. His fists clenched and feet fidgeted in place. The weight of Kurt against him kept him anchored, still heavy and solid. Still healthy. Blaine knew being healthy one day didn't give you a pass for the days to come but watching those around him, he'd begun to learn to line one day at a time. And knowing that Kurt was there and alive, kept him from running, running towards the cherry blossom tree and past it, into the real world, the straight world, the world that didn't have to watch themselves die out.

He felt Kurt's arm wrap around his waist, his hand digging into the pocket in his pants. He was trying to reach the packet of tissues Blaine kept in there. Blaine reached his own hand in beside Kurt's and pulled them out. He handed them to Kurt and watched him dry his eyes and pass them to Carter who was standing on his other side. Carter took one and passed the packet on down the line on young men in black suits.

Kurt's hand returned to his pocket and held his tightly as they watched Kyle's casket lower into the ground.

* * *

January 1993

* * *

Blaine knew he'd be lucky to get another three. All he had wanted to do was turn and run the other way, burry himself in his work so this new path couldn't find him. But then, all of a sudden, the boy of his dreams dug him out and seemed to be offering a hand to hold as he raced to his end. Blaine did not want to see that end but he didn't want to let go of that warm, solid, grip. And yet, that was one of the reasons he didn't want to see the end. He had been empty and searching for too many years though and Kurt's was the only one that fit. And now that it had found its other half that cradled it just so, Blaine didn't think his hand would ever be able to let go and let him run the other way. Even if Kurt did. And that would only get him to that end faster, faster to when his perfectly excavated cave would come crashing in on him due to the insurmountable weight left without a counterbalance.

"Well tomorrow is Saturday so we're going to sleep in."

"That not what I meant," he mumbled.

"And then I'm going to make you breakfast in bed," Kurt continued as if he hadn't heard. "I went out and bought you good coffee today. And then we're going to pray that you keep it all down after taking your medication."

Blaine startled back at the mention of medication. As soon as he had gotten his results he had started excavating his cave, lining it with the Democratic General Assembly of North Carolina and their atrocious I-85 district. Gerrymanderers were the only toxic diseases he was willing to deal with. "I um, I don't-"

"You don't have your medication. Yes, I know. There was a severe lack of pill bottles in your bathroom cabinet so I assumed. I also found you prescription in the waste paper basket beside your desk," he said pulling out the slip of paper from his pocket.

"You snooped through my trash?"

"You're not taking your meds?"

Blaine sighed in defeat. "Kurt they don't work. They just make you sicker." It was a defeat in more ways than one.

"Yeah, well they're all we got," he said liking his arm through Blaine's and pulling him down the street, keeping tight to the buildings so that the overhangs could provide them with a little shelter. Blaine decided not to press further down that road. Insufficient treatment was another touchy subject.

"Are any pharmacies going to even have it? And then there's all the auxiliaries."

"The ones in Dupont Circle will. That's all they deal in these days." Blaine chuckled and shook his head. "What?"

"I just never really fit in down there and now I'm going to be living there."

"Well I'll be your guide. And the guys will be happy to have you back. St. Patrick's Day has just never been the same. We'll have to get you singing after that little display," Kurt said playfully, nudging his shoulder into Blaine's. Blaine nudged backed, looking over at Kurt as they stopped to wait for the light.

"Yeah I'm not sure we should tell people about that," he said scratching the back of his head. Kurt winced back apologetically. "What?"

"Well Darcy's never been one to keep his mouth closed. And he was quite impressed."

"Right."

* * *

Blaine lifted his head off the cool, black granite counter and looked up over the row of little orange bottles with white caps at Kurt. Kurt was giving him the same look the pharmacist had and the doctor had. If he hadn't been blinded by his own tears the other night, he probably would have seen it then too. It was just unbelievable sadness. There was no other way to describe it, brows furrowed, eyes wide with concern, lips turned down in the slightest frown and opening and closing periodically as if trying to utter some words of comfort or support but not knowing how to form anything of consequence. Blaine thought he best get used to seeing it. He knew it had graced his own face many times before back when visiting friends in the hospital was part of his daily routine.

"Do I have to?" he whined like a petulant child when faced with cough syrup. If only it was a cold he was facing.

"Every day, twice a day, I'm afraid," Kurt said, picking up the first of the six bottles, straining his wrist as he pressed down on the child seal to twist off the cap. He shook out a little while oval pill with a dark blue band around the centre into his hand. He took Blaine's hand, placed the pill in his palm and slid a very full glass a water towards him.

Looking at the pill, Blaine sat up straight. "You know some people don't think HIV leads to AIDS," he said shrugging in a last ditch effort to avoid his future, or lack thereof.

"Yes well they're cooks. And live in the magical kingdom known as denial. They probably actually work with you."

"Ouch. You're lucky this isn't a totalitarian state. And really? I'm the one that works with cooks?" He popped the small pill into his mouth and swallowed it quickly with a gulp of water. He swallowed a couple more times at the odd sensation of the large capsule sliding down his throat. "Didn't you used to hang out with a guy convinced the government was hiding a car that ran on water?"

"Oh, yeah," Kurt laughed, pressing down on the cap of bottle number two and twisting it off to shake out a pill. "He was always weary of you. It was quite entertaining."

"That I believe." His own laugh turned to a groan as Kurt handed him the next pill but he swallowed it without protest.

Kurt moved on to the third bottle. "Bonus prize time."

Blaine smiled and took the remaining pills in quick succession. He took a deep breath once they were all down. The kitchen was still warn with the smell of sticky sweet syrup and freshly brewed coffee. The small comforts couldn't quite ease his unsettling as Kurt stared at him with a questioning look, just waiting. They couldn't just sit there though. He'd go crazy. He was already starting to ponder the way he was swallowing. Was that how much he normally swallowed? It felt like more. Nausea caused that didn't it? He took another deep breath and shook his head. "We should do something."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Well I mean more like watch TV than climb a mountain but yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay. I'll make another pot," Kurt said. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head and carded his fingers through his gel free hair, pushing it back from his forehead as walked past the bar stool where Blaine was sitting to the coffee pot. Blaine watched him walk. He was wearing an old pair of his boxers that did their best but did not quite hide his round, perky backside. He smiled fondly as it wiggled while Kurt measured the coffee beans. He remembered thinking shortly after they had met that Kurt could sense his gaze and did it on purpose but over the years he learned it was more of an unconscious habit. It peaked his interest nonetheless. Always had. Made him feel like a teenager again. A glance back at the row of bottles though put a damper on his twitching dick. He loved that he knew Kurt wiggled his butt without thought. He loved how he knew Kurt lived in hoodies, particularly his old ones from college when he was at home even though he would wrinkle his nose in disgust at the thought of wearing them outside. He loved that Kurt would scold him for eating right before bed but more often than not he would wake up in the night to find Kurt with his head in the fridge. He loved how he knew Kurt would happily drown himself in a hot cup of coffee but only if it was good coffee and he loved that he knew which coffee made the cut. It had taken a few years in the beginning to learn these little quirks but he loved it. Blaine had always been happy to absorb. But amongst the many things he learned, Blaine also discovered that it would take a life time to truly uncover all the little mysteries that made the man standing at the sink, filling his coffee pot, in his old law school sweater and boxers from about the same era, just oh so intriguing. If he was ever even able to uncover them all. But now, now he didn't have that lifetime to learn and absorb. He felt a hollowness begin to form in his gut where he had begun to mourn things he did not even know yet because he never would. He was familiar with the feeling. In the nights after Kurt had left all those years ago it had plagued him only now it cut far deeper. There was hope back then that either Kurt would return or that he simply wasn't the one. But now, Blaine knew. If those seven years had taught him anything it was that his heart only beat for one person. The boy with the perfectly pale skin, coiffed auburn hair, and holographic blue eyes. But that didn't matter anymore because even though he had returned, it was Blaine who would leave this time and there was no way to change that. So the inevitable unfinished puzzle loomed greater, adding to the crushing weight growing over his head.

"Come on, cartoons await," Kurt beckoned once the coffee was brewed and he had two cups in his hand, heading into the living room. Blaine followed and took the middle seat of the couch beside where Kurt was sitting next to the arm rest. He took his mug from Kurt sipped carefully at the hot beverage. Kurt flicked through the channels until he found a kid's station that was still playing morning cartoons. He then set the remote down on the coffee table and leaned back against the arm of the couch, opening his arms. Blaine took the invitation happily and scooted down in his seat so he could rest against Kurt instead on the back of the couch and pillowed his head on his chest. Kurt's fingers quickly found his hair. It was the only good that came from leaving his hair un-gelled. Before they broke up, this had been a sure fire way get his body to relax and his mind to shut off. The steady beat of Kurt's heart in sync with the rise and fall of his chest, and breath falling lightly over his neck. Cross interrogation days usually ended like this. After they had come back from the clinic seven years ago when testing had first become available, this is how they had spent the rest of the day. The first funeral they had attended four years before that and every funeral since. And so he tried. He tried to close his eyes, match his own breathing to Kurt's, soak up the comfort like he used to. The Road Runner kept his mind though and not in good way, in an escapism that kid's shows usually did. As a kid he had routed for the Road Runner but now he couldn't help but feel like Wile E. Coyote, part of a community that had fought for the right to be and to love and express that love physically, coming up with campaigns and slogans relentlessly only to be crushed by an anvil just as the tides began to turn in their favour and have everything they had fought for slip away as they were left dizzy, weak, and on the brink of death. It was a nauseating thought.

Or maybe that was just the AZT hitting his system. Either way, his head was in the toilet before the end of the sketch.

* * *

**A/N: and there's chapter 3, hope you liked it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: just wanted to say thank-you again to those that are taking the time to read this and i really hope you're enjoying it**

* * *

January 1993

* * *

There was a knock on the bathroom door. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Blaine called back faintly, his throat scratchy and burned from the acid, his body feeling weak.

"You need anything?"

"No. I just need a minute."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine, Kurt. Just leave me alone." There was a lot more bite to his words than intended but he wasn't in the mood for company. He hung his head as he listened to Kurt's footsteps grow fainter on the hardwood as he retreated down the hallway. He thought about calling out an apology but his stomach convulsed again. He was down to bile at this point.

When his stomach finally settled his body was spent. A goods night sleep was gone just like that. He sat on the cold tile floor ten minutes, leaning against the toilet, in part scared that his stomach wasn't quite finished but mostly because he just didn't have the strength. The acrid taste in his mouth is what motivate him to eventually stand and, leaning against the sink vanity, brush his teeth and dampen a cloth to wash his face.

He caught his reflection in the mirror. His skin was pale and grey and there was sweat beading on his neck. He could feel it on the small of his back and under his arms as well. His eye lids were heavy, keeping the light from fully returning and he may have been imagining it but they did seem more sunken than before. The only thing that looked good were his cheeks. They were covered in the dull grey skin like the rest of his face but they were still plump. Experimentally, he sucked them in, hollowing them in the way he knew the disease would do to his body. His reflection was almost unrecognizable and yet it belonged perfectly amongst all the images of his friends that had gone before him. It was like he was leaving his world and joining theirs.

He did another quick check of his Notre Dame hoodie and finding it clean, he unlocked the bathroom door and made his way back into the living room. It was empty and the TV was off. He checked the kitchen and his bedroom but they were empty too. "Kurt?" But no one answered. "Kurt?"

When he realized he was alone and that Kurt had left panic rushed through his tired body. He went straight for the dresser drawers. Opening the third drawer down, he rifled through the old t-shirts. Not finding what he looking for, he checked his laundry basket. He then checked the laundry room, even opening the lid of the empty machine. The kitchen counter, the table, the couch, his desk. Nothing. Panic without the sufficient energy to do so made him jittery. Or maybe that was more AZT. He wrought his hands together and spoke out loud to the empty house, not being able to form coherent thoughts in his head alone. "It's not here. It's not here. I've looked everywhere. He wouldn't had hid it. No. So that means he has. Right? Right. He has it. And that means he isn't mad. Well, no he's probably a little mad just not too mad. Okay. Okay. This can be fixed. Okay. Everything's going to be okay," he reasoned to himself as he pulled back the covers on his bed and climbed in. He closed his eyes but sprang them back open and rolled over, lifting the covers on Kurt's side as well as his pillow. Still nothing. He sighed in relief and pulled the pillow that still smelled of him into his chest and fell asleep.

* * *

December 1985

* * *

"Oh good, your home," he heard Kurt call as he shut the door. It was a somewhat accusatory tone. As he shuffled off his shoes he tried to think of something he had done or forgotten to do. He could hear sizzling from the kitchen, lemon and garlic filling the small apartment.

"Smells good?" he called back, hoping that was the right answer but knowing it wasn't.

"Chicken picata. Although I'm not sure I can give you any in good conscious."

"Oh?" Blaine asked as he walked into the kitchen, smiling at the familiar sight of his boyfriend cooking him dinner in his old college hoodie, his butt wiggling just so as he stirred.

"Don't 'oh' me. You must've heard," Kurt said turning around and cocking his hip out. The blue of his hoodie brought out the already intense blue of Kurt's eyes and Blaine found himself at a loss for words. "Well?"

"Uh, no. No. I didn't hear anything. What's wrong?"

"Your fucking boss."

"Levin?"

"No. What? No. Reagan. Not Levin. No one fucking knows who that is."

"He's my boss."

"Yeah well his boss in Reagan so just…fuck. Stop being a smart ass."

"That's kinda my job."

"I will hit you with this," Kurt said, waving a wooden spoon at him. "I'm not in the mood."

"Right, sorry. What wrong? What'd Reagan do?" Blaine asked, loosening his bowtie.

"He's fucking cutting AIDS funding."

"What? I didn't hear anything about that."

"That's 'cause he hasn't done it yet. It's in next year's budget. By eleven percent, Blaine."

"Kurt, the budget doesn't come out for another month."

"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. I know it doesn't fucking come out till January. But this is the plan."

"How d'you know? I don't even know."

"Stand Up has a source. And you wouldn't know because you just fucking play with maps all day."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, you sit there and fucking look at maps and don't pay any attention to what your boss is doing. You have no idea who you're working for."

"Least I have a job."

"Excuse me? I work my ass off. That stack of paper in the living room, is a fucking play I wrote. And it's fucking brilliant. And I'm sorry I can't do a nine to five but it's kinda hard to sit in an office all day while your friends, your whole fucking community is dying before your eyes. I go to the hospital every day to sit with someone new. I then go get groceries for someone else and make them dinner. Or run to the pharmacy and get their meds. And you know why I do it? Because your fucking boss isn't finding us a cure, isn't funding sufficient care, and now, he's fucking cutting the little we have. I'm fucking doing his job so don't even start. And know what? I'd rather be doing all that then working for Hitler."

"Hitler? Really?"

"He's ignoring the fact that a group of people he finds morally repulsive is dying. Convenient. He's killing us. I don't know how more obvious it could be. You've seen them. They even fucking look like holocaust survivors."

Blaine sighed. He hung his head. "I don't know what you want me to do."

"Say something. Tell him he can't do this. Show him that someone he relies on to get elected is part of this community."

"Kurt…"

"What?"

"I can't."

"Why?"

"It's all very compartmentalized, okay? I redistrict. Or how you put it, fucking play with maps all day. I'm not the health secretary. I'm not…it's not what I do. I redistrict."

"You know what? You went to a fancy school for four years and another one for four more. You're supposed to be the smart one. I used to think you could do anything. But you know what? _I_ can't. I can't do this anymore," he said with tears in his eyes. Blaine watched as he pulled the George Washington University hoodie over his head and threw it on the floor. "That," he pointed to the pile of blue fabric, "was the biggest waste of money. What's the point of intelligence and education if you just sit blindly behind a desk all day? The world can't wait for you to wake up. _I_ can't wait. This isn't what _I _do."

Blaine stood and watched as Kurt walked to the door and slammed it. He could smell dinner burning on the stove but couldn't move, his eyes flicking from the door to the hoodie.

* * *

January 1993

* * *

It was dark when he woke up. He closed his eyes again and lay there silently for trying to listen for something, anything. He didn't think Kurt had left for good but he was still hoping he'd return sooner than later. The house was quite though, no dishes clanging, no TV show issuing from the living room, no crazy voices coming from Kurt himself as he read the dialogue to his latest work out loud to make sure it sounded real and in character. Blaine finally opened his eyes to look at the time. Seven twenty three. It was too early to just roll over and go back to sleep and he was too awake now anyways. Sitting around the house wouldn't work either. He could already feel the jittery feeling he always got when something wasn't just right. He'd never been able to sit still or turn off his mind until he had fixed it. That's what got him sick in the first place.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and runners and headed to the front door. On his way he spotted the six little orange bottles still lined up along the kitchen counter. He thought about leaving them but in the end he grabbed his messenger bag and threw them in.

First stop, the bar. Luckily Darcy was still employed there. A lot could change in a day with Kurt's friends.

"Ah, hey," Blaine said, oddly nervous as he approached the guy with longer, slightly greasy black hair and a gage in his left ear.

"Hey man. Oh Mr. Piano guy, right? Hummel's?" Darcy said. Blaine was surprised he recognized him. He seemed like one of those people who had smoked so much pot in his life that he was now permanently high. He'd kept a job for two weeks now though, Blaine mused, so he couldn't be that bad. He held out his hand for Darcy to shake. After some fumbling around with a drying towel, Darcy extended his own. He had a firm enough grip.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Good to see ya man. Can I get you something?"

"Uh no. I'm good. I was actually wondering if you could give me Kurt's address."

"Oooh sorry man, no can do."

"Oh uh, I promise I'm not stocking him or anything. We dated for a long time a while ago and I just… I work for the government. I'm a lawyer. I'm totally trust worthy."

Darcy laughed. "Word of advice, man. Government, lawyer, not really trust worthy people. I'd keep that under wraps if I were you."

"Oh."

"And if you were so trust worthy then why didn't he give it to you?"

"He didn't really get a chance too? I don't know. Just, please. I'll owe you one."

"Ahh I'm just messing with you. After that little performance," he said nodding to the piano, "I'd give you my mother's address."

"Ah, okay," Blaine chuckled not really knowing how to react to that. "So?"

"Oh, yeah I don't know what it is." Blaine just stared at him, blinking. Yup, this was definitely one of Kurt's friends. "I can give you directions though," Darcy said with a smile, pulling a napkin from the little dispenser and gabbing a pen from his apron.

Second stop, 'the intersection somewhere in or around Dupont Circle or whatever – it's definitely in DC. Cabbies will know it – with four gas stations, one on each corner.' Or, to the rest of the world, Third and Andrews Street. He pulled the napkin out of his pocket after paying the cabbie and then waked down the street with the Shell and the Chevron. Or, west on Andrews. He walked to the building with the confederate flag hanging in one of the windows and then walked two more buildings down. He crossed his fingers as he walked up to the door buzzer but sure enough there was a K. Hummel on the list. Kurt lived on the Chevron side of the street. He buzzed.

"Yup?"

"Hey, it's Blaine."

"Blaine?"

"Ah, yeah."

"Jeez, here I'm going to throw the keys down, the things broken."

"Okay, sure."

Blaine walked back a few steps, barley having time to look up before something fell on his shoulder and then to the ground with a jingle. "Heads up?" Kurt called from above with a laugh.

"I'm going to remember that," he called back, picking up the keys and heading back to the door. Kurt seemed happy so that was a good sign. He climbed the three flights of stairs to Kurt's floor and saw the door propped open to his apartment just down the hall. He let himself in and found Kurt pulling brownies out of the oven, still wearing his hoodie. He threw the keys back at him.

"Hey!"

"Nice aim."

"I was going for your head."

"Is that any way to treat a dying man?"

"Gotta get the fun in while I can. I made brownies," he smiled.

"I see that," Blaine said leaning against the wall and watching Kurt fuss around in the small kitchen, warm with the sweet chocolaty smell of baking.

"I was going to bring them over tomorrow."

"So you were coming back?" he asked suddenly shy, ducking his head and shuffling his feet.

"Blaine."

"Well I yelled at you to go away and I just thought maybe you'd… I don't know," Blaine said, crossing his arms against his chest.

"B," he said stepping in front of him and cupping his face like he'd done last night in the rain.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten mad."

Kurt moved his hands from his cheeks to his arms and rubbed. "I'm not going anywhere. Yeah, it stung but I know, okay? I know. I just wanted to give you some space."

"Okay."

"What?"

"It's just we didn't work before and now it's going to be harder and I just don't understand."

"Well for one, we're never discussing politics. Ever. Like that's all that fight was, wasn't it?"

Blaine nodded, untangling his arms and wrapping them around Kurt's waist. He looked up into Kurt's eyes and held his gaze. It was hard but he it was important if they were going to move forward together. "I'm so sorry I didn't go after you. I thought that maybe there might be more and that was just the last straw."

Kurt looked back at him and purity of his blue eyes, like a glacial lake before the time of man, still managed to amaze him. "I'm sorry I let my pride get in the way. I wanted to call you but… and then the budget thing turned out to be true too."

"Yeah that was definitely blow number two. But okay, I was serious last night. What about tomorrow?"

"Okay look," Kurt said, placing two closed fists against Blaine's chest and thumped them with an unsteady beat. "If you want honesty I'm going to give it to you. I don't want to watch you puke. It's gross. I was struggling to keep it down myself after you started. I don't want to have to get up in the middle on the night and change the sheets. I don't want to bathe you because you can't stand up. Showers for two are meant for sex. I don't want to be celibate because you're too sick to get it up. I don't want to see your beautiful olive skin turn grey or get covered in sores."

"You're the one with beautiful skin," Blaine interrupted, pulling Kurt closer and burying his face in his neck. Kurt's fists were now trapped between their bodies and could no longer thump. Blaine felt them open up and Kurt began to run his flat palms against his chest instead.

"And I like feeling your strong arms hold me. I don't want them to turn skeletal and weak. I don't want to live in a hospital. I don't want to watch you die and I don't want to burry you. I don't want any of this. I can't even think about it. I'll just break down. I don't want it but I still want you. I want you so much that I'm willing to settle for the little broken bits I'll get. I was comparing everyone to you and none of them came close and even now, you still win."

"It's hard to believe you," he mumbled.

"I know. I'm not sure I would either. Give me a chance to show you though?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

"So we're doing this again. We're back together."

Kurt nodded. "We're back together." He pulled away after a minute and swiped at his own tears. "Brownie?" he smiled.

"I'll need something to puke up I guess," Blaine answered, pulling out a pill bottle from his bag. Kurt gave him a sympathetic look. "How am I supposed to go to work on Monday?"

"Forty minutes."

"What?"

"It took twenty minutes to kick in and you were puking for twenty so take them forty minutes before leaving. Fifty to be safe," he said, finding a knife in a drawer and beginning to cut into the brownies. "It's shitty but totally possible. A lot of people do it. Or you could also quit. I'm sure you have the funds."

"I think it'll keep my mind occupied."

"Yeah that's a good point."

They sat down on the couch and found a rerun Seinfeld to watch. Kurt withheld the brownies until he swallowed all his pills. He couldn't help but watch the clock. At minute nine, Kurt asked if he had told his family yet.

"No," he shook his head.

"You going to?"

"Probably should." Kurt nodded. "I just hate going up there. Dad's still a dick. Rachel's still all fucked up."

"What about your mom?"

"Still let's dad speak for her. It's like fucking Leave it to Beaver."

"Well I don't know about Beaver but I think Wally might be gay."

"What?"

"Yeah, guy suffers from depression or something."

"Oh god. That doesn't make him gay."

"Eh," Kurt shrugged. "But no I meant your birth mother."

"Oh. Still haven't found her."

"Seriously? Like no one even goes to church anymore. Those nuns literally have nothing to do. Can't even screw. You'd think they'd be a little more productive."

"Yeah, well. She didn't want me then, probably doesn't want me now. Especially now. Gay and AIDS. I'm definitely something to show off."

"Hot shot lawyer. Working for the President of the United States. Handsome as the devil. You should try again. And you don't have AIDS yet."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Let's start with the real family first."

"Next weekend?"

"Jesus. You've never been one to procrastinate."

Kurt just smiled and gave him a wink before turning back to the TV. "And yet you're the hot shot lawyer."


	5. Chapter 5

March 1993

* * *

"Fooooooood! Eat."

Blaine grunted and mumbled unintelligibly, all his brain power focused solely on the various stacks of paper in front of him and only vaguely aware of Kurt's presence.

"Come on," Kurt tried again, setting two bowls of pasta down on the kitchen table.

"Shit!" Blaine lifted his head from the papers, the stiffness in his neck letting him know he'd had his head down for far too long. "Be careful. Be careful."

"Oh. So it speaks?" Kurt pulled out his usual chair only to find another stack of papers on the seat. A flash of panic shot through Blaine as he watched Kurt bend down to pick them up and place on another chair.

"Just don't mess anything up. It's all in order."

"Looks like a mess to me."

"And it's important and I need to know it like the back of my hand," Blaine said with a flustered tone as he tilted his head left then right to stretch out his neck. He then tilted it back down to the population demographic document in front of him. His eyes blinked and strained trying to focus in the dim lighting. It had gotten dark without him noticing and so the lamp over the table, designed for soft, mood lighting was the only one on. It was like the frog in the pot of boiling water. Before, his eyes hadn't notice their struggle but now, thrown back in instead of eased in over time, they were fighting back. He didn't have the time to care at the moment though and scanned the document quickly for his spot and then continued reading, mumbling the words out loud. Barely registering a sigh from across the table, Blaine tore a sticky note off its pad and pressed it firmly to the margins of the page and scribbled furiously on the small slip of yellow paper.

"Could you pick out the back of your hand from a line up?"

"What?" Blaine asked absentmindedly, not looking up from his work.

"I just think the expression is stupid. There are things I know better than the back of my hand. Like my times tables."

"Your times tables?"

"Okay maybe my two times tables."

"Uh-hun." Somewhere buried deep within his brain, Blaine knew it was impolite to not focus on someone when they were talking to you but the trial was two days away and he knew this was going to be one of those career altering moments. Those moments were few and far between and though he didn't like to talk about it, he knew this was probably going to be his last chance at leaving his mark on this tiny, tiny piece of history.

"But anyways," Kurt continued, seemingly unfazed by his attempts to… not ignore him exactly. That was mean. But, well, ignore him. "Eating is important and you need to especially for your health. The pills work better with-"

"With proper nutrition. I know. I know." He dropped his pen to the table and swiped his hand down his face. "And yet they don't work. At all. For all we know they're killing me faster. I mean it sure feels like it when I'm puking my guts out twice a day. So really, I'm probably better off focusing on work."

"No need to get snippy."

Blaine groaned. Mostly at himself. Kurt was right. There was no reason to get snippy at him. It wasn't fair to Kurt who had been nothing but supportive and wonderful and as a man with numbered days and even fewer healthy ones, Blaine felt that that was more than he could ask for. He struggled to see how he could ever give Kurt just as much in return. It just wasn't fair. None of it was. At least with work he could research and build a case and study it to his wits end and actually win. His efforts and sacrifices could get him somewhere. There was an achievable goal instead of a child's ignorant wish.

"You haven't eaten all day. You must be hungry."

Glancing over at the island towards the kitchen, he saw the mess of pots and pans and knives and spatulas, a clear sign of Kurt's cooking. The warm smell of garlic and sautéed vegetables flooded him like as if his mental damn had finally burst. He hadn't even noticed Kurt in the kitchen earlier. "I had coffee," Blaine tried innocently. Kurt just raised an eyebrow at him. "I used to do this in college all the time. Lost all the extra pounds from the semester during finals. It was great."

"You're forty not twenty. And you're sick."

"Okay, okay," he conceded, picking up his bowl. "Fifteen minute dinner break. It does smell good. Mmm. And it tastes good."

"You sound surprised. I should be offended," Kurt said picking up his own bowl.

Blaine laughed. "It's just I haven't eaten in so long I'd forgotten how good food can taste."

"Not funny."

Blaine leaned back in his chair and stretched his neck out again. "So what have you been up to all day?"

"Besides making sure you don't starve? Well I grabbed lunch with some friends. And then I've been writing."

Blaine's head popped back up from his food and he looked across at Kurt. Sure enough, his hair was coiffed and he had changed out of his hoodie. He didn't even remember him leaving. "Oh, the musical? How's that coming?"

"Oh, no. This is something else."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Work in progress but it wouldn't leave me alone so I had to start it."

"Well I'd love to read it when you're ready."

Kurt looked across the table at him. Blaine couldn't quite read his expression. He smiled again before Blaine could question it. "There's um an audition coming up I'm thinking of going to. It's for Peter in the theatre festival's Peter Pan production."

"That's awesome."

"Well, they tend to be small but I guess there's a pay cheque so…" His eyes were down, focused on his food but Blaine could see the brightness in them. This was something Kurt was excited about and wanted. Blaine didn't know if he was downplaying it because it wasn't a sure thing yet or if it was because it was a far cry from his once very real dreams of Broadway. He'd have to figure that out though. If this relationship had any hope of working they both needed to be in it. And Blaine needed this relationship.

"No, Kurt. That's really awesome," he said, ducking his head to catch Kurt's eyes. "You should definitely do it. I'll be front row opening night."

"It's just an audition and I'm thirty five. I'm probably ancient compared to everyone else trying out."

"Well you look ten years younger." He really did. Blaine remembered poking fun at him and all his moisturizers but now he wished he'd paid more attention. Looking across the table, he didn't see a single wrinkle and his pale skin was still as flawless and even toned as it had been that first night when he was laid out underneath him in bed, catching the moon light and putting it to shame. He had been amazed then but was even more amazed now, under the dim light of the low hanging table lamp. It was as if nothing had changed, like Kurt was some angelic creature who knew no space or time. He worked beyond the confines on this planet, the daily grid of mundane and confined human life. Blaine didn't know which was worse though. His trapped fate, or Kurt's free one, constantly looking down at the man he loved, caged and cursed. "And let's be honest, Peter Pan is like the role you were born to play."

"Because it's traditionally played by woman?"

"Exactly!" Blaine laughed as he dodged the angry pen that was hurled at his head. He heard it clatter somewhere against the wall behind him and then to the floor.

"Yeah well you were born to be a lawyer. Stuffy and righteous and… and boring."

"And yet, you love me."

"Well you love me too."

"I guess my dad can stop being concerned about having a gay son then."

"Oh my god. Next time I'm letting you starve."

"No," Blaine said, shaking his head, his smile softening into something more serious but still happy. "You were born to play it because you were born to fly."

* * *

"Okay, you really need to stop shaking," Quinn said, placing a firm hand on his knee to still it's bouncing. They were sitting in a small hallway outside the courtroom. The closing arguments had come much earlier than Blaine had anticipated and they were now waiting for the judge's ruling. He had expected one more day, at least, of depositions and it was throwing his confidence. He hadn't been this nervous since his first trial. "We've got this. You were solid. Anyone could see that."

"Thanks. I hope so."

He jumped when his pager beeped.

"Jesus, no more caffeine for you."

"It's Kurt. He must be back from his audition. I should call him." Quinn nodded and Blaine stood up and walked down the hallway towards the lobby to find a payphone. He passed the defense lawyer on his way. He was laughing at some joke with the defense team. Their ease did nothing to help his nerves.

Finding a payphone, he quickly dialed his home number.

"Blaine?" Kurt answered, the excitement evident in his voice.

"Yeah, hey."

"I got it! I got Peter! They asked me to wait around after my audition while they saw the other girls – it was mostly girls by the way – and then they called me back in and said I had it if I wanted it."

"Oh my god, Kurt that's amazing. I'm so happy for you. You have to get me a ticket for opening night."

"I will, definitely. And it looks like tonight's dinner will be celebratory instead of consolatory."

"Oh. Well um, I don't know if I can make dinner tonight," Blaine winced.

"What? Blaine Anderson. You have spent the last six months preparing for this trial. You can spare me one night."

"No, no. It's not that. It's just we closed today and the judge is deliberating right now and so if we win, I'm going to have to go out with the team."

"Oh wow. How'd it go?"

"I don't know. Hard to say."

"I'm sure you were brilliant. But couldn't I just meet you down there and go with you guys. You say spouses always go to these things."

"Oh, so we're married now?"

"Wouldn't be horrible. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Wait, wait, Kurt. I don't… I'm really sorry but I don't think it's a good idea. I'm sorry. I'll take you out tomorrow okay?"

"Seriously? You haven't told them." The disappointment was palpable.

"It's not that easy. I'm sorry."

"Of course it's not. Good luck with the verdict-"

"Kurt wait-"

"Love you."

"I-" The line went dead before he could return the sentiment. "…love you," he finished to the rejecting buzz of the dial tone haunted further by the coldness with which Kurt had spoken. It haunted him because he understood. Growing up in a conservative, Irish Catholic household, Blaine understood the hiding and the shame it brought. This was different of course but really, it was the same. He locked the front door to his house behind him every morning as he left for work, locking it contents inside, hidden away from the suit and tie world he entered until he could return to them at the end of the day. Kurt wasn't an object though. He did not freeze in position when Blaine left and reanimate when he returned. Caged behind the professional and somewhat public side to Blaine's life was no place for Kurt. It was no place for anyone.

* * *

December 1974

* * *

"You about ready?" his father asked, poking his head around the bedroom door after knocking.

"Yup," Blaine answered with a bright smile, adjusting his purple bow tie around the collar of his grey dress shirt in the mirror. Things with his father were still a little tense, awkward at best, but he was home for Christmas and Christmas just always put him in a good mood. He was hoping St. Nick would allow his mood to stay that way until he returned to school in January but he was getting a little old for presents from the North Pole.

"That uh, that's a little… flashy. Don't you think?" He followed his father's gaze to his bowtie. "The partners are getting up there. Don't want to give anyone a heart attack."

Blaine looked at his father's reflection in his mirror. He was taller than Blaine and at this point Blaine had given up on ever surpassing him. His hair was gelled slickly to his head and he wore dark grey dress pants, a light green and white checked dress shirt with a black tie and a black jumper over top. It wasn't all that different from his own ensemble. The nagging thought that if he'd worn the exact outfit last year no one would have said boo. Now though, his every step, every word, every bowtie was scrutinized for a hidden meaning or agenda. And now everything he did screamed gay and screamed it too loudly as if his parents had miraculously been cured of their deafness. And it wasn't as if they cured themselves either. He had to sit them down and spell it out for several hours before his words were heard. And yet now, they, or his father at least, lived in constant fear of others becoming tuned to the previously unfathomable. The stupidity of it all pissed Blaine off the most.

"It's purple. It's not neon pink." A part of him suddenly wished it was neon pink just to spite him.

"Don't you have a green one? It'll be more festive. Or red to match your sister's dress. And hop to it. Rachel and you mother are already down stairs." He turned to leave but when he got to the door he added with a chuckle, "I guess you would take longer now though."

"I've been gay since I was born," Blaine snapped. "Why would anything I do change now?"

"Well I don't know about that. Just change your bowtie." It was an order. "It's Christmas. Everyone just wants to have a good time. We don't want to ruffle any feathers."

"What about mine?" Blaine mumbled as his dad finally made it through the door way. He didn't get an answer but that he hadn't expected to since he was speaking mainly to himself. He was an adult now. He was in law school for goodness sakes. Starting a pointless argument that they could never win with their parents was something kids did. And this was one he wouldn't win. Especially if it was making them late for the Christmas Party. He couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth in the first place though, only able to keep them quiet to not give him the satisfaction, because his father still had that power over him. He could still reduce him to a toddler who was dressed by his parents. And Blaine hated it. Just as his life was starting to come together, as the pieces he'd struggled find and worked to build for twenty-four started to fit and the picture of a fulfilled and accomplished, grown man began to take form, his father could rip a crucial piece away within less than a minute.

He looked away from his empty door way and back at his reflection. There were tears pooling in his hazel eyes. The whites of his eyes were turning red which brought out the green and yellow flecks. Many people would just say he had brown eyes but Blaine knew better. His father's eyes were brown, dark and monochrome and blank and cold. His were hazel. They were warm and open and soft. And although he'd had several guys comment on them over the last few years, Blaine liked them simply because they were different from his father's. It was his reminder and his hope that he wouldn't be trapped by everybody and he wouldn't be trapped forever.

* * *

March 1993

* * *

"Hey, there you are. Is everything okay?"

Blaine lifted his head from where he'd thunked it against the payphone after hanging up. Quinn was walking briskly towards him, her heels clicking on the hard, granite looking floor. Her blonde hair was pulled back taught, in a neat bun and her light grey pencil skirt and suit jacket fitted pristinely without wrinkles or creases. She looked perfectly put together, as usual. And Blaine knew he looked like a mess.

His inability to sit still had wrinkled his suit beyond hope and, combined with nerves, had cause him to sweat through his shirt. Thankfully his suit jacket hid the damp stain from sight but it still felt gross. He had run his fingers through his gelled hair so much that he was sure it looked like a birds nest. The last thing he wanted to do right now was appear in court.

"Is everything okay?" Quinn repeated once she reached him.

"What?"

"They called everyone back in for the verdict. Is Kurt okay?"

Blaine looked around Quinn at the lobby and sure enough, it was empty. "Shit. I'm sorry. He's fine. Everything's fine. I just, I don't know, zoned out I guess," he hastened.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," Blaine nodded. Let's go.

He and Quinn walked at a brisk pace towards the court room doors. Inside, he wanted to turn and run the other way, especially now that he was adding late to his dishevelment. And yet this had the potential to be the case of his career. He'd worked so hard to prepare it and even harder to get himself in the position to take it on in the first place. But now, the courtroom that he once loved, the smell of the wood, the uniform layout where everything had a place, the area in front of the prosecution and defense benches where he could take the stage and be heard, now it resembled more of a torture chamber. His head begin to spin as he and Quinn walked towards the prosecution bench. He eyed the chair but before he could pull it out and sit down the "All rise" call was made.

The verdict was a blur. Literally. All his attention was put towards breathing. In and out. Cold sweats wracked his body and he could feel his hands shake. He placed his hands on the table in front of him for balance and tuned everything else out. Just breathe. In and out. In. And out. In. And.

"Blaine? Blaine? Can you hear me? Shit. Shit," Quinn's voice sounded softly from far away.

"Is he breathing?" a second voice asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's breathing," Quinn answered. "Oh wait, he's moving."

Blaine saw a bright green blur and he smiled at the thought of the rolling Irish hills. They called to him and he wanted to go. To go and be free of it all more than ever. The blur began to focus though and the green fields gave way to Quinn's big green eyes, hovering over him. The glass ceiling of the court house lobby back lit her blonde hair like a halo.

"W-what happened?" Blaine stuttered.

"I don't know. You weren't looking good and then you just passed out," she said, the concern evident in her voice.

"I don't remember walking out."

"Oh, be careful," she urged as he sat up. There were many legs standing around them that were no doubt attached to many eyes. This definitely wasn't the place to linger.

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure. I can take you to the hospital."

"No!" he answered, too quickly and too harshly. "No, no. I'm fine. Just probably didn't eat enough or something."

"Okay. Well why don't I drive you home," she offered, lending Blaine an arm for support as he stood. He still felt a little woozie but it wasn't as bad as before. He could see clearly and the sweating had stopped. There was a weird kink in his neck most likely from resting on if funny and he stretch it as she led him to her car. "We uh, we won by the way. I don't know if you remembered."

"We won?" he asked excitedly. "Oh my god. We won."

"I know. Thought that might help."

Blaine laughed, feeling much better than he had earlier during the recess. This was the kind of news that made going to visit his parents bearable. They would be proud and forget their disappointment for a while. When he graduated law school their pride had lasted through a three day weekend. When he was hired by the GOP, it had lasted an entire two week vacation. He had postponed Kurt's suggestion to drive up at the end of January, his heavy work load for this case acting as a convenient excuse. At least now, if he couldn't scramble together another reason, he'd have good news to accompany the bad.

Quinn dropped him off and by the time he'd made in through the door and was beginning to start on his shoes, Kurt had appeared in the entrance way. "You okay?"

"We won," Blaine smiled.

"You won! That's amazing. You're amazing," Kurt congratulated with a tight hug that lingered longer than a simple congratulations. Blaine let himself sink into it, holding Kurt tight as he felt him do the same. "You didn't have to come home," he whispered, arms tight around his neck. "I get it. I grew up in Ohio. I get it."

"You shouldn't have to," Blaine whispered back, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Neither should you. No one should."

"I uh, I passed out," Blaine confessed.

"What?" Kurt asked pulling back and catching his gaze.

"I don't know. I was dizzy and then I was waking up on the floor."

"Are you okay?" Blaine nodded. "You need to get that checked."

Blaine nodded again. "Can you come with me?"

"Of course."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: so I just want to start off with an apology. I kinda think this chapter is a disaster. I've written the next two and I like them so it's not that the whole story is going off the rails but yeah… sorry.**

* * *

March 1993

* * *

It wasn't so much that Blaine hated the doctors it was just there was something to the whole ignorance is bliss thing and doctors tended to want to educate. It was widely known that the medication didn't work. Buyers' clubs existed in large numbers because the medication didn't work so they could illegally import other drugs and bypass the FDA and yet they only succeeded in collecting a list full of new drugs that didn't work. And so if nothing worked, why even bother. Why put himself through the stressful and fearful process. He was going to die. Why not just live happily in peace until death came instead of listening to a doctor tell him his fate over and over again.

His paper gown rustled in when Kurt moved to sit next to him on the exam table. The sound was far too loud and far too foreign. He squirmed uncomfortably but that only made it worse. Kurt placed a comforting hand on his arm, below where the sleeve ended, thankfully, and rubbed back and forth. And that was it. That simple little touch. In all ways it was a reflection of Kurt's love for him and that, that is why he was here. Because knowing he was positive was keeping Kurt negative.

"Alright, Mr. Anderson. Let's get started," a short and slightly plump middle age woman said as she walked into the room, head in her clip board. "I'm Doctor Ross and I'll be conducting your exam today. Ah, and you are the boyfriend?" she said to Kurt once she finally looked up with a friendly smile.

"Yes," Kurt nodded.

"Are you staying?"

"If that's okay?" Blaine answered for him.

"Of course. The more the merrier," she answered enthusiastically as if they were all headed out for ice cream. "So treatment for couple months now. Mostly likely on your seventh year. And a fainting spell. Well," she said setting down he clip board. "Was the fainting accompanied by any convulsions, vomiting, or foaming of the mouth?"

"No," Blaine answered.

"Okay," she nodded. "Well that would be consistent with this only being year seven so my guess is that you've become slightly anemic and it was simply due to a lack of oxygen. It is unfortunately one of the many lovely side effects of the AZT, others of which I'm sure you're well acquainted with," she said cheerfully.

"Vomiting."

"Oh yeah," she nodded. "So I'm going to take a blood sample and we'll check your red blood cell count and we'll do a viral load while we're there too. And then in two weeks we'll know for sure if that's what this is and how bad it is.

* * *

"Okay so yeah, just hold it. It'll take two secs," Blaine said, leading Kurt out onto the front porch and down to the lawn. In the sun it was okay to stand outside in jeans and a t-shirt but it was hard to find sun beneath the two large trees in his front yard and breeze nipped away sun or not.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at the ladder. "That's pretty high. What if you get dizzy?"

"I'll be fine. It'll only take a minute. Besides," he said, waving the orange, green, and white striped at Kurt. "I've got the luck of the Irish on my side."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay. Just be careful."

"Will do," Blaine answered with a grin. He tucked the flag under his right arm and began to climb.

"Mmmm, nice view," Kurt mused when he was six rungs up.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckled, pausing to shake his ass in a way much less subtle to the way he was used to seeing Kurt do.

"Jesus, okay enough. You're shaking the ladder."

"Well that's why you're holding it," he protested cheekily but resumed climbing.

"You should wear those more often."

"I'm not really sure Kelly green, skinny jeans are appropriate office attire. Besides, they wouldn't be my St. Patrick's Day pants if I wore them just any old time."

"Well maybe not. But they could maybe be your lucky pants," Kurt answered coyly. Blaine stopped again and peered down, purposely leaving his feet on different rungs and cocking his hip out just a little further than necessary. "And then, you know, luck is a big thing for the Irish so it'd sorta be all the same really."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Blaine said with another wiggle.

"Oh my god. Just go back to being careful."

Listening to orders, Blaine continued to climb. Once at the top he unhooked the stars and stripes from the flag pole, bundled them up and tossed them to the ground. He then began to unfurl the Irish flag and find its clips.

"You know, I'm pretty sure it's a felon to let the American flag touch the ground," Kurt called up.

"Just the American flag or all flags?"

"Probably all. Just let the record show that I couldn't save it because I was holding the ladder."

"What? Just in case the police show up?"

"I feel like they would send some special military task force. It is an act of treason after all."

"Yeah? From Desert Storm to Flag Down."

"They're certainly trained for it."

"Maybe a little over trained."

"And they need a job. Government does shit to get them into an office so…"

"Hey. No politics," Blaine said, looking down to see Kurt's eye role and chuckling at the predictability. "Your rule," he pointed out as he began to climb back down. "But no worries, Babe. I'll take the fall." He jumped down from the remaining three rungs and pulled Kurt towards him for a kiss. "I'll tell them that you were too blinded by my ass to even notice what was happening."

"Hmmm," Kurt answered as he moved on to his neck. "That would be a pretty good excuse. If they could be convinced that your ass was delectable enough."

"Delectable?" Blaine laughed.

"Yeah. Might involve an inspection of some sorts."

"Ooh, now that sounds fun," Blaine mumbled into his neck. "Almost makes the treason sentence worth it." Blaine crashed his lips back up and into Kurt's. He sucked and bit and lip and let his pelvic grind forwards just so. And then he pulled back. "Almost," he whispered as he walked past Kurt and bent down to gather the fallen flag. He wished he could have stayed to see the flustered look of Kurt's face, the dark, eyes trying to blink away the haze, the flushed cheeks, the swollen lips, parted just so until they weren't, snapped closed in annoyance as his brows furrowed. Staying would have ruined the effect though.

"Ass." Kurt walked past him back into the house, punctuating his accusation with a firm slap to his Kelly green, denim covered back side. "Hurry up. We've got a party to prepare for."

After the flag was folded, although again probably poorly enough to warrant a federal offense, Blaine packed it away in the garage and returned quickly to the kitchen. Everything seemed ready to go except the food. Last night he and Kurt had decorated with balloons and streamers. They had moved all of the furniture in the living room out of the way so they could set up a beer pong table and the two kegs of Guinness Beer he had ordered was close at hand. The beer pong tournament prize was a full sized Irish flag, like the one he had just hung up outside, as well as a leprucon hat and a set of four Guinness beer steins. Blaine was not one to half ass St. Patrick's Day. He also set up a card table in the sitting room and dug out as many old board games with missing pieces he could find. It didn't matter that the average age of attendees was in their late thirties; alcohol could make anything a fun and party appropriate activity, even Operation. He remembered one year, the Beer Pong tournament had been replaced by a Bullshit tournament.

"Here, taste." Blaine excitedly shoved a spoon with a bit of his homemade guacamole on it into Kurt's face.

Kurt took the spoon from his hand, a slight look of fear on his face. "Oh my god," he hummed. "Blaine, that's amazing."

"Yeah? Does it need anything? Salt? Lime?"

"Unh, unh, No that's perfect. Why on earth do I do the cooking around here?"

"I'm afraid my culinary skills, though brilliant, are very limited."

"Uh-hun?" he said skeptically, picking up the bowl of guacamole and putting it on the snack table as Blaine started to quickly clean up. "That's convenient."

"It's true," Blaine laughed. "I can literally make like five things."

Before they could get into it, the doorbell rang and after that, the guests arrived in a steady stream. They were all Kurt's friends, but most of them Blaine had known and got along with from before the break up. And Kurt was definitely right. They all did seem really excited for the annual party to be back in swing. Everyone was decked out in green with hats and beads and makeup and everyone greeted him with a big, almost welcoming hug, even though it was his party.

"Piano Man!" Darcy called. "I brought brownies. They're special green brownies. You gotto try'em,."

"Yeah, sure," Blaine said taking the plate of the brownies drizzled with green icing and placing it on the snack table. "Thanks."

"Oh no problem, man. If you like'em I can always bring you more."

Kurt was laughing somewhere behind him and when Darcy wandered off, Blaine asked him what was so funny. "Nothing. Nothing, B. You going to make your announcement?"

"Okay," he said skeptically but let it go. "Yes, announcement." He got himself a beer and grabbed one of the kitchen chairs to stand on. "Attention," he called out over the mingling guests. "Well welcome back! After a seven year break, we are back and the Sixth Annual Anderson-Hummel St. Patrick's Day Party is in full swing. So the plan is to do beer pong for the tournament because what's St. Patrick's Day without getting hammered? Even though it's traditionally a dry holiday." That got a groan from his audience. "I swear, one year we're going to do it. And we're going to wear blue too because that's St. Patrick's true colour and I'll make cabbage soup for everyone. But hey, hey," he called settling his protesters. "This is not that year. We got plenty of beer and plenty of recipes for any green cocktail you could think of. And if there is general consensus and you're all too drunk to perused to do otherwise, we can change the tournament game. So yeah, eat, drink, and be merry," he finished, raising his glass and chugging it along with many of the crowd.

The party was soon in full swing and Blaine found himself talking to Sam. Sam had long slightly greasy hair like Darcy's but it blonde instead of black. He looked like he belonged in Southern California, busting on the boardwalk after a morning of catching surf. He even smelled a little of the ocean, salty and fishy. Blaine vaguely remembered Kurt saying he worked part time in the seafood department of the Safeway in the Circle so that might explain things. "So how's the musical coming?"

"Musical? Oh, Kurt's?" Blaine nodded. "No, he stopped working on that ages ago. Got frustrated one day and just tore everything up.

"What?"

"Said it wasn't working. I'm surprised he didn't tell you with you guys like living together and all."

"He still has his place. But yeah. It must've slipped his mind. We've had this big trial at work. It's over now but I was working late and always getting him to listen to my arguments." Blaine was shocked. He thought Kurt was really excited about his musical. He thought he'd been working on it for the last couple months. He'd been busy with the trial sure but he would have remembered Kurt tearing up his work. Although as Blaine raked his memory he couldn't find even the slightest mention of the musical. It seemed that Kurt had stopped talking about it. And that wasn't like Kurt. One of the things Blaine loved about him was how passionate he was about theatre and how he could go on and on about a certain line a dialogue or even a single inflection. How could he have overlooked their absence?

"It's all good buddy," Sam said, slapping him on the back. "Artists can be very temperamental. He'll be back at it."

"Yeah," Blaine said softly, not really agreeing. He wasn't so much concerned that Kurt had torn up his work, it was more that he hadn't told him about it. Or that he hadn't even noticed.

"But hey, man. Darcy said you can play. And sing. I didn't know that."

Blaine chuckled. "Piano lessons and choir boy duty as a kid. But yeah, that was uh, a onetime thing. I was hoping it wouldn't get out."

"Okay, okay. Sam said holding his hands up in surrender. But one day."

"Okay."

"Piano Man!" Blaine jolted forward as a body crashed into his back. "You try a brownie yet?"

"Not yet."

"You should. You'll love'em. Made'em 'specially for you," Darcy slurred, the beer in his glass sloshing precariously.

"Okay. I will."

"Okay," he said with a slow motion wink and then stumbled away.

"See, now for some reason that worries me," Blaine said to Sam.

"Ahh, he's harmless."

"You sure?"

"You've been in that suit and tie for too long my friend. Need to loosen up. Rejoin the real world. A little jam sesh could be just what you need."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Definitely need more alcohol for that."

"Good thing you stocked up," Sam said with a bright smile before pulling him towards the keg and filling up one of the plastic cups. "Now drink."

"I'm way too old for this."

"You're forty. You're not dead. Drink."

And drink he did. He started downing beers in time with the guys playing beer pong which was quickly becoming his favorite spectator sport. He hadn't been drunk in a long time. The last time he drank heavily was the night he ran back into Kurt but he was far past that now. He had been able to keep some of his inhibitions that night, stopping himself from falling into bed with Kurt without telling him. Of course, HIV was heavier than simply making a fool of himself but still, his lawyer suit rarely truly came off and yet right now he found himself rooting around in his attic for his old key board while the party continued on downstairs.

Kurt was standing at the base of the attic ladder when he emerged, key board in hand. There was an amused grin on his face. "Can you make it down on your own?"

"Yes," Blaine answered with a slightly offended tone.

"Even with that."

"Yes."

"Okay, sorry. I'm just making sure."

"You just want to stare at my ass again."

"You got me. You're going to kill me when you're sober."

"For letting you stare at my ass?"

"No," Kurt laughed. "For letting you put on a show."

"Like this?" Blaine said, wiggling his ass.

"Oh, Jesus. Just get down here before you fall."

Blaine made it all the way to the last rung before he stumbled. He felt Kurt's hands steady him around the waist and they didn't let go until both his feet were on the ground again. Blaine turned around to face him.

"What?"

"It's just how come you'll catch me when I'm falling but you won't let me catch you?"

"W-what?"

"You tore up your musical. Sam told me. You didn't."

"O-oh…"

"Piano Man!" Darcy called before Kurt could explain or Blaine could press further. "You try a brownie yet, dude?"

"No!" Blaine answered, perking up again, surprised at himself for not trying the chocolaty treat. He always gobbled up the ones Kurt made.

"You got a piano, Piano Man."

"Oh, yeah!"

"You going to play for us?"

"Yeah. Sam brought his guitar."

"Awesome, dude. Come on." Darcy grabbed his arm and Blaine followed him enthusiastically back downstairs. Sam didn't know any Irish folk songs but that was okay. Blaine just told him to follow along. They weren't really that hard.

"Alrighty, everyone," he announced. "This one is called Molly Malone. This one always reminds me of my mother. I always pictured her being just as pretty," he rambled, slurring words here and there. "So yeah, sing along. It's easy to pick up. Here we go."

Sam strummed along beside him and Blaine assumed it sounded okay because everyone sang along drunkenly to the chorus.

_Alive, alive, oh,_

_Alive, alive, oh,_

_Crying "Cockles and mussels, _

_alive, alive, oh_

Even Kurt sang although he looked a little sad for some reason. Despite his drunken state, Blaine remembered all the words. This was just another one of those songs that was a part of him in a way.  
The house was filled with cheering when they finished and Blaine bowed at the applause and accepted another beer from someone.

"See what I'd tell you all about Piano Man" Darcy said, throwing his arm around Blaine's shoulder. "He's good, right? And he owes it all to me. I discovered him. At my bar. My piano. And don't anyone forget it."

"You don't own the bar, Darcy. Or the piano," Kurt pointed out as Blaine and Sam laughed. "Blaine's talent had literally nothing to do with you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Darcy waved Kurt off and stumbled off towards the kitchen.

"That was good," Kurt said, turning back to Blaine as the crowd dispersed back to the pinochle game or the beer pong tournament.

"Thank-you," Blaine beamed.

"Lively."

"Unlike your musical."

"Well it's not like I've-"

Kurt was cut off again by Darcy. "Piano Man! Brownie!" Blaine took a half step back as a brownie was shoved in his face.

"Thanks," Blaine said, taking it in his free hand. He was just about to take a bite when Kurt grabbed it out of his hand. "Hey."

"Yeah, hey. I made those 'specially for Piano Man. And he just earned his meal. Didn't you see? You saw."

"Exactly," Kurt said cocking out his hip and then he turned back to Blaine who was pouting his lip as he eyed his stolen brownie. "Oh cut it with the puppy eyes. They're pot brownies."

"What?" Blaine asked aghast, suddenly sobering up. "You made me pot brownies. Y-you brought pot in-into my house."

"Yeah. So?"

"T-that's a federal offense. I could lose my job."

"Okay, Jeeze. I was just trying to show you a good time, Piano Man," Darcy said, snatching the brownie back from Kurt and wandering off towards the kitchen.

Blaine watched him walk away as he polished off his beer, his brow furrowed.

"You can't really be surprised at this," Kurt said.

"I know," Blaine said shaking his head with a laugh. "I'm still getting used to your circle again, I guess."

"You and Sam seem chummy."

"Yeah, he's alright."

"Blaine!" Sam called from the other room. "Cards. Want in?"

"Uh, sure. I'll be right there. I'm going to go play cards," he added turning to Kurt.

"Sure. Have fun. Take it easy with the beer though."

"It's St. Patrick's Day. Free pass."

"Tell that to your stomach when your puking up twice as much tonight."

"Okay, okay. One more," he promised. Kurt rolled his eyes but didn't protest. "You know what I am surprised by? Musical Gate."

"Just go play cards."

The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. Drinking, laughing, and a few pockets of loose change exchanged at the card table. His body had gradually become accustomed to the toxic medication and so puking wasn't quite a guarantee anymore – although he didn't know if that was a good thing or not in terms of its effectiveness – and the luck of the Irish was on his side that night allowing his stomach to remain inside his body and not in toilet bowl. Blaine kept to his one more beer promise but may have stolen a few sips of Kurt's when he took a seat beside him at the card table. He did however win the soberest award at the end of night. His prize; wrestling car keys away from those too drunk to drive and arranging taxies. He vowed to buy next year's winner a set of Guinness steins too. Although he probably could have snuck the set off the beer pong winner as he all but carried him to the waiting cab.

By the time he had everyone off safely home, Kurt had already found his way safely into bed. The house was a mess and they could both probably use a long shower after a long night of sloshing drinks but seeing Kurt curled up amongst the blankets made him forget all that and remember just how exhausting hosting house parties really was. Closing the bedroom door behind him, shutting out all the chaos for the night, he pulled off his shirt, struggled out of his tight green jeans, and spooned in behind Kurt. Kurt moved against him, snuggling back against his body. Blaine smiled into his hair, its chestnut colour still visible in the moon light. It smelled like Guinness beer but Blaine didn't find it unpleasant. It was St. Patrick's Day after all. He knew a sober, more awake Kurt would be horrified though so he pressed a light kiss to the back of his head, a small, pre-emptive apology for the severe scrubbing it would undoubtably suffer tomorrow morning and closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

March 1993

* * *

Blaine awoke first the next morning. The late morning sun was shining unpleasantly through the window and into his eyes but he didn't want to move. Kurt felt so warm and solid, the smoothness of his back pressed snuggly to Blaine's chest felt like a fresh, silk sheet. Their legs were tangled, as were their arms and hands. It would be impossible to extract himself without waking Kurt but that wasn't a problem because Blaine never wanted to let him go. He inhaled deeply, nuzzling back into his pillow. The alcohol scent had mostly faded from Kurt's hair but not entirely. Kurt would definitely run off to the shower as soon as his eyes opened. Blaine had to admit that a shower did sound good but lying here sounded better and he wanted to savour it. He let himself drift into that hazy state between awake and sleep, not entirely gone from this world yet but teetering so far on the brink that some of the things that inhabited it ceased to make sense. The crucial ceased to matter. The insignificant came forth in appeal of their status, imprinting on his semi-conscious mind. Kurt's steady, heavy breath across his arm, moving up and down in sync with the rise and fall of his chest. The way his hair tickled his nose as it moved with his own breath. It was the best this state had ever seemed.

Kurt stirred against him some time later and brought him back fully to the world. "'Morning," he mumbled into his creamy, pale neck between kisses.

"Un-huh," Kurt said, sounding much more awake and aware than he had. "Good morning yourself."

It took Blaine a minute and one of Kurt's signature butt wiggles for Blaine to catch on and then he was just as awake as both Kurt and his cock which was nestled quite happily between Kurt's ass cheeks. "Well?" he mumbled, burying his head back into Kurt's neck and finding his sweet spot with his teeth.

"You have no shame, do you?" Kurt said as he untangled himself. "Ugh, I smell like a club." He turned around to face Blaine and leaned in. "So do you. Shower."

"That doesn't necessarily mean no sex," he said, watching as Kurt's lime green brief clad ass sauntered towards the bathroom.

"I never said it did," he called back from the door way.

Blaine grinned and pulled himself up and vertical much more quickly than usual. The shower was running and the frosted glass door was pulled shut by the time he got to the bathroom. Through its translucence he could see Kurt's lean figure. Not that he hadn't noticed it before. He most certainly had but usually he had to divide his time admiring Kurt's body between his blue eyes and his adorable smile and his flawless skin and how it was slightly pink in some areas. Without everything else, hidden behind the glass, like the blur of his sleepy haze, his form was even more captivating. His long, sculpted legs, dipped and curved in a way that would make rivers envious. His torso was tall and slim and the ridge of his hip bone jutted out on either side and Blaine had never wanted to nibble on them more. But then Kurt turned to the side and his eyes went directly to swell of his ass and its round curve just demanded that his eyes trace its form in the way he wanted his hands to. Eventually his eyes were able to move past the swell and up into the dip of his back and then further still to the long arms that stretched upwards and flexed as he scrubbed the booze smell from his hair. Those arms belonged around him and those hands belonged on him.

He pulled the elastic of his boxers from his hips and let them fall to a heap beside the lime green briefs and stepped forwards and into the shower. Form appreciation faded quickly as those rose pink lips curved up without hindrance and those eyes looked back into his so openly that drowning, drowning within their immense blue waves, had never been so enticing.

"Took you long enough," Kurt said, tilting his head back into the spray to rinse out all the suds. Blaine stepped closer and placed one hand on his hip, stroking his thumb over the ridge that had caught his gaze earlier, and the other over his chest mimicking his thumb strokes over the pink nipple that matched the rose of his lips. "Mmm, not fooling around, are you." Kurt lifted his head forward from under the water and Blaine leaned forward to capture his lips with his own. It was hard to think when he was connected to Kurt like this but he did remember the old "Kissing Doesn't Kill' campaign and couldn't help but think that maybe the people that made up Gran Fury had never been kissed, never been kissed softly enough to covey the love and compassion that was alive and well and so very present but with an underlying roughness that hinted at something else entirely, something hot and hungry. It pulled his head in too many directions and his nerve endings, where Kurt's hands were running over his body and their cocks were brushing against each other, in even more. It felt like he was floating and the world around him vanished and everything was good again. Wasn't that what dying was? Especially if the whole heaven thing was real and the whole God hating gay people wasn't. "God, you're gorgeous," Kurt mumbled against his lips and then his neck and then his collar bone. "Your skin. It's just so rich and warm. You belong in the sun on a beach somewhere."

"You're the one with the gorgeous skin."

Kurt shook his head, lips now on his chest, dangerously and deliciously close to a nipple. "Too pasty."

"What? No way." Blaine said, steadying his breath when Kurt's tongue flicked over his nipple before he sank to his knees. "I would die to have skin like yours. And hair," he said running his fingers through the wet locks as Kurt tongued around his cock. .

"This is some weird Irish thing, isn't it?" Kurt asked before closing his mouth around the head of his cock.

Blaine didn't dignify the absurd question with an answer. His cheeks pinkened at the slight truth to it. As fate would have it, his dark hair and tanned skin resembled his father's. No one would ever guess he was Irish. But Irish blood was definitely in his veins, pulsing through his heart, calling for home. He knew so little about his birth mother, about the convent he born in, about the land he so desperately want to roam. But that so little meant so much and he couldn't help but see the green isle in Kurt's pale, sun deprived skin and auburn hair.

He mostly didn't answer though because Kurt was sucking and licking and the wet warmth of his mouth pulled his head further into that dizzying place.

He leaned back against the wall of the shower, Kurt pulling away and stroking him as he came with a groan. There was virus in precum but not as much and it would only transfer if Kurt had a cut or sore in his mouth. His eyes were closed but he felt Kurt crawl up his body, planting more kisses, sending tingling aftershocks through his veins and more fog to his head.

"That what you were looking for?" Kurt asked into his ear, nibbling on the lobe while he waited for his answer.

"Hmmmm."

"No sleeping in the shower."

"But 'm sleepy."

"Umm normal post sex sleepy or sick sleepy?" Kurt asked suddenly serious.

Blaine shot his eyes open and saw that look of concern on Kurt's face. He felt his cheeks heat up and he looked past Kurt to the shampoo bottles. "Normal."

"Sorry," Kurt winced. "I'm sorry. I just didn't know and-"

Blaine shook his head. "It's fine." He tried to smile. "It's fine. I'm glad you care." He pushed off the wall and squeezed by Kurt, moving to stand under the shower spray.

He wet his hair with his back to Kurt, the water running unpleasantly in his eyes. He was glad Kurt cared. He was. It wasn't really Kurt he was frustrated with. It was himself. He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting and tangled his fingers in his hair so they had something grip. He did this. He was stupid enough to get this. By some miracle he had survived the initial outbreak and up until the point that they realized it was sex and that condoms reduced the risk significantly. He should have been in the clear but he was so stupid. And now he was faced with death and the few good years he had left were marred by the theft of intimacy. Even that was kind of stupid, that he cared so much about sex. But he did and he had fought so hard at the beginning with himself to be okay with it and the pleasure he took in it and now it was being taken right back, leaving him to worry and second guess and never quite able to relax just like those first few times.

* * *

October 1972

* * *

Blaine inhaled the rich coffee scent as he took his spot at the back of the line. He smiled at the frantic mumblings of the kid in front of him flipping through flash cards. There was something about midterm season the Blaine loved. Yes he had been a little stressed over the past week with profs still handing out assignments as if they were unaware of the looming tests. It's hard to write a paper on oil and conflict in the Middle East when the history of the entire subcontinent needed to be in his brain by Monday. And yes, his a social life was a little lacking but ordering coffee counted as human interaction, right? At least he studied in the library and didn't confine himself to his dorm room.

He loved being in the library during midterms. There was just this sense of comradery that seemed to develop between students over their communal death sentence. It was mostly a silent bond with everyone's heads in their own books, only looking up to answer another's question to share a study table because they were all taken or to watch their bag while they went to get a much needed coffee or take a much needed bathroom break after finishing that much needed coffee. Everyone coming together in their hour of need.

The coffee breaks were his favorite part though. The coffee shop attached to the library served the best coffee he had ever tasted and was always a buzz with ominous declarations by students and words of encouragement from the baristas. Before college he'd only ever had the coffee brewed in the rusty pot on the kitchen counter at home but the stuff here was so good he treated it as a reward. If he got up early on a day where he didn't have class and dragged himself to the library to study, he got coffee. His grades had been good for the past three years so it had to be working.

When he returned to his table on the second floor of the library, medium drip in hand, a guy with sleep messy hair was sitting in seat opposite his own.

"You don't mind, do you?" the guy spoke as Blaine sat down. He was cute. It was the first thing Blaine noticed and he gripped his pen a little tighter because of it.

"No. Not at all."

"Thanks," he smiled, ducking his head back to the piece of paper in front of him.

Blaine looked across at the paper. He was always curious as to what everyone else was studying. He furrowed his brow when he saw that it was covered in hexagons with circles drawn in their center. "Geometry?"

The guy laughed. "Might as well be. Organic chemistry. We're on the benzene unit."

"I don't know what that means."

"Well you're uh, two state solution is foreign to me," he smirked.

Blaine felt himself blush and followed the guy's eyes to his own notes opened to the Israel – Palestine debacle. "Me too," he laughed.

"Well, all I can tell you about benzene is it's a six membered carbon ring that's composed of three conjugate double bonds which make it very stable."

"I'll keep that in mind. May come in handy for Trivial Pursuit one day."

"Never know."

They went back to their work and joined everyone else in their stress induced silence. Blaine found it hard to focus though. He was nervous, knee bouncing - hand shaking nervous. And he knew it wasn't the caffeine and that made him even more nervous. He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering over to the hexagons and watching as his table mate transformed them arrows and addition signs and HNO3s or AlCl3s. He tried to tell himself that he'd have been that interested had it been anyone sitting across from him.

Some three hours later, cute guy shoved his hexagons into his text book. Blaine looked up from where he had finally been able to return to Israel and Palestine and was a little startled to see he was the one that was now being watched. He felt his cheeks heat up again and looked back at his note book to hide his flush. A pen came into view and with his head still down, Blaine watched as a phone number was drawn in blue ink in the top margin of the page.

"Maybe we can play Trivial Pursuit one day. Or, you know, something else."

The pen disappeared and he heard the thud of a text book close and the dull scape of a chair pushed back on the linoleum floor. He finally looked up and received a wink before the guy walked off towards the stairs, his foot step echoing through the silent library.

* * *

"Blaine, come on. Just relax."

That was a lot easier said than done. It was impossible really. How were you supposed to relax when your pants were down and your cock was out and in another man's mouth while you were seated in the front seat of a car in broad day light? Okay, maybe it was dusk, but still. Even if it was girl between his legs, it was still illegal and he couldn't help his eyes darting around at every sound. What if someone saw? What if they told the University? It was a Catholic school; he could get kicked out. What if everyone knew he was… He could even say it in his head. A car drove by them and Blaine jumped, kneeing Jake in the shoulder.

"Sorry. Shit. I'm sorry," he pleaded as Jake pulled off and sat up. He wasn't really trying to get another chance. He was relieved in a way. But he did feel guilty. This date was a disaster. If it even was a date considering all they had done was drive to the park, park, and make out awkwardly as he kept turning away to make sure no one was around before his pants were at his knees. He hadn't really known what to expect but he couldn't get the number in his notebook out of his head.

"Yeah," Jake sighed. "Let's just call it quits." He started the ignition before Blaine could protest but he didn't really want to so it was okay.

* * *

March 1993

* * *

He picked up his shampoo bottle and popped the cap. Before he could turn it over though, Kurt's hand was cupping his. His movements were slow. Blaine watched as his fingers slowly slid to lock with his before his palm settled completely on the back of his hand. And then it just rested there. His eyes slipped closed when he felt Kurt's body press up behind him. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding when Kurt's chin hooked over his shoulder.

"Let me. Please."

Blaine nodded and let Kurt take the bottle from him. He leaned his head back as Kurt massaged the shampoo into his hair.

"I love your curls," said softly and Blaine could feel him twisting his finger around the ringlets. Usually that comment was followed by a plea for no hair gel but it wasn't today.

* * *

"Alright. Uh right, Mr. Anderson." The short, plump doctor smiled as she recognized him. "And boyfriend."

"Yes," Kurt nodded, introducing himself this time.

"Okay, so okay news. Sort of. Better news then the last guy anyways." Blaine caught an odd look from Kurt which let him know that neither of them really knew how to respond to that. "Your red blood cell count is 4.8million per microliter. Now the average for an adult male is somewhere between 4.7 and 6.1 and when you were first tested you were at 5.9. So as you can see there's definitely been a drop but like I said last time, this isn't unusual. And you haven't dropped out of range yet. Were you under a lot of stress at the time?"

"Yes," Blaine answered. "A little."

"And you haven't fainted since?"

"No."

"Felt dizzy?"

"No."

"Okay, good. I said this was going to be good, didn't I?" she said, nudging Blaine's knee. "So right now I don't think it's anything to worry about. Now I won't lie, there's been a significant decline so it will most likely continue at which point we'll have to start you on Procrit."

"That's the shot right?" Kurt asked.

"Yes. You know your stuff, Boyfriend."

"Friends."

She nodded in understanding. "Right so the shot's really no big deal except it's three times a week so kinda a pain in everyone's ass. And you're still working, aren't you, dear?" Blaine nodded. "Yeah so that makes it tough. Although when the time comes we'll do our best to work around your schedule. So no need to worry just yet. About that anyways." Blaine perked up a little at the implication of doom ahead. He saw Kurt do the same and felt his reassuring hand return to his arm. "Your viral load has remained steady. We're at about 60 000 now. That's definitely not AIDS yet and it could mean relatively little but we do hope for a decline. Now usually wait three to six months after starting treatment so it could turn around. The virus is a little bugger that way. Difficult to predict. So you could still be one of the lucky ones. Just keep taking everything. That's the biggest thing. I mean there's a ninety five percent chance you're fucked right now but stop taking anything and it's a hundred."

"Lovely," Blaine deadpanned.

"I know, honey. It's a retched thing. Worst thing to ever pass through my doors." She patted his knee and looked him in the eyes. The wrinkles around her eyes were very pronounced and he could see where her grey hair was starting to thin. Her gaze lingered and she seemed to drift and Blaine suspected the eyes and faces of all the other young men who had sat on this exam table before him were looking back at her. It was one thing to have it and be dying and another to watch a friend die but Blaine suspected that it must be yet another to be the one responsible for their health, responsible for making them better, and to be just as helpless as the dying men in the paper gowns. He wondered if they ever haunted her at night, if he would join the other corpses in her nightmares. "Now, Boyfriend," she said, cheery again, turning to Kurt.

"It's Kurt."

"Right. Kurt. You're not on my patient list. You negative?"

"Somehow," Kurt nodded and Blaine may have skipped Sunday service in recent years but he silently thanked God for that.

"And we're keeping it that way, yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes, definitely," Blaine added.

"Condoms," she nodded to the jar, reminiscent of one his mother kept full of sugar on the kitchen counter, on a stool by the door. Blaine had noticed that jars like this had been popping up around Dupont Circle, in clubs, grocery stores, and barber shops over the last few years. This one didn't but the others all donned either a Stand Up or a Gay Men's Health Crisis sticker. "Take a handful. And lube. Lots of lube. Lots of lube and lots of prep," she said while wiggling her fingers in the air. "More than you probably think you need or were used to in the past. No tears means no fluid means no transfer. Also, they seem to think it's easier for the receiver to, well to receive than the other way around. So, I mean do what you will with that. The condoms and proper prep are far more important."

"Uh, will do," Kurt smiled politely.

"Okay," she said and Blaine watch as her eyes flicked back and forth between them. "So come back in if there's any more fainting or if you think you're getting sick. Otherwise we'll call in a few months to set up your next appointment." She turned towards the door and placed her hand on the handle before turning back. "And don't be afraid of each other." And then she slipped out.

Blaine looked down and pushed himself off the exam table, to his feet and away from Kurt's touch. He kept his back to him as he redressed. It was stupid. He knew it was but there was a part of him that felt like less of a man knowing he couldn't have sex with Kurt like he used to. Worse still, was knowing he could and was just making excuses due to his own fear. Fear got you nowhere in life. Fear got you trapped in a small, dark closet, on dates with dumb blonde daughters of partners in his father's company. Fear was supposed to be something of his past and yet it seemed as if the virus had been slowly eating at his courage in between feasting on his immune system. So far he'd been able to keep his fear to himself. Kurt never suggested anything more and if the other morning was anything to go by, he was still left happily sated. But now it was there and out in the open and he would have to answer yes or no and though his fear would not necessarily need to be formally announced, it would still make its way through the door and into the party on the arm of his answer. He was so concerned that he couldn't even tie his bowtie back around his neck. After trying and failing twice, he crumpled up the strip of polka dotted fabric and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans. When he turned back around Kurt was standing by the door and the stool where the jar sat. He was twirling a condom between his fingers and looking back at Blaine, eyebrow raised.

Blaine looked down to where the stool's legs touched the floor and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Kurt didn't move. He didn't say anything. He just waited. Blaine watched as a pair of feet walked by the door and hoped the person would stop and knock. They didn't though. Not seeing a way out, Blaine finally shook his head. He kept his eyes on the stool legs but could see as Kurt stepped forwards towards him. He stood still as Kurt dipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved the bowtie slipping the condom into its place. "Think about it," he said as he tied the fabric into a bow around his neck. "Just think about it."

* * *

**A/N: and there you go. I hope this was better than the last one. Feel free to let me know what you think so far. I'd love to hear from you!**


	8. Chapter 8

June 1993

* * *

"I wish I could go to Neverland. I'd teach that ol' Captain Hook a thing or two," Blaine said, eyes darting between the piece of paper in his hand and Dani.

"I'm sure you would, John. Now, if you don't mind, Michaela and I are reading," Dani replied, her eyes darting between her own piece of paper, tucked into the old law text book on her lap, and Blaine. She laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just you're holding a paper towel role like you're ready to charge into battle."

Blaine looked at his out stretched arm and flushed. He dropped it a little closer to his side. "I'm… I'm just trying to get into character."

"You're doing good B," Kurt said fondly appearing at his side and giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Unlike some people," Blaine continued to Dani.

"You tell her, B."

"Oi, Peter! You're supposed to be all over Wendy, not John. Or is this some sort of reimagining?" Sam asked from where he was leaning against Dani.

"Okay, okay, back at it guys. I only got two more weeks." Kurt relented, extracting himself from Blaine's side and walking back to the other side of the couch, their designated off stage. "So, from Dani's line. And action!"

"Now if you don't mind, Micheala and I are reading," she managed without incident this time.

"I want to see," Sam said leaning over her shoulder.

"You can see just fine," Dani replied with a little too much snark than Blaine thought entirely appropriate for Wendy but which certainly captured the actress sitting cross legged on the floor in a grey beanie and stud nose ring.

"No. I want to uh, I want to see the uh… What does that say?" Sam fumbled as he lost his place and then squinted at the hand written script.

"Shadow," Kurt called from behind the couch.

"Oh. I want to see the shadow."

Blaine almost laughed at the proud grin on the blonde's face when he got through the line. He bit the inside of cheek to contain himself though. It had taken them a pathetic forty minutes to get through the first scene and he knew Kurt needed to practice. He looked over to where Kurt was wincing, pressing a few fingers to his temples. He caught his eye and gave him the best sympathetic smile he could muster. Kurt gave him an eye role in return but smiled eventually and Blaine watched as his shoulder's visibly relaxed while almost missing his line.

"… he can claim it."

"If he comes back," Blaine rushed, nervous about his almost mistake. "I'm going to ask him to take me to Neverland."

"I want to go to Neverland," Sam said, turning to him with the most enthusiastic grin that Blaine almost thought that Sam had forgotten that this was a play and actually believed in the magical land of eternal youth.

"All right then," Kurt called without a script, hopping up on the back on the couch, hands on his hips like Super Man, with a grace and agility that caught Blaine off guard. "What's keeping you?"

They managed to get through three more scenes before hunger set in and ridiculousness of everyone except Kurt playing multiple parts became too much. At that point, pizza was ordered and beers were passed around.

"So aren't you like out of a job now that the people finally came to their senses and ousted the Republicans?" Dani asked, curled up in an arm chair, beer in one hand, pizza in the other.

Blaine chuckled at her obvious disapproval. He had been around Kurt and his friends for long enough now that political jabs more or less rolled off his back. The scene in front of him was a typical Friday through Sunday night at his house these days and they always came with a certain dialogue. "Well no," he answered. "A party doesn't just disappear when the other gets the presidency. We still hold seats in congress and they all want to keep them so they still give me a pay cheque."

"The whole thing doesn't really seem right. How political parties can just cherry pick who gets to vote for who."

"Exactly," Blaine grinned. "That's precisely what I prevent." Dani gave him a sceptical look. "Should I show you the I-85 district we defeated? It was totally handpicked."

Sam was sitting cross legged on the floor, his blonde head whipping back and forth between the two. Kurt groaned from he was perched on the on the arm of the couch next to him. "Please don't. Dani, please don't encourage him. I thought we were done with this."

"When people paint me like the bad guy I'm going to defend myself," Blaine shrugged because although he'd gotten used to the questions and misconceptions and had learned to drop the defensive tone, he wasn't just going to let them win. "And really, people call us racist by breaking up an African American district that was seriously constructed house by house but isn't it more racist for the Democrats to just assume that all African Americans are going to vote the same way."

"Okay," Kurt said putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's maybe not discuss this while you're a little drunk and still very much white."

"I'm sure it wasn't just race they all had in common," Dani continued despite Kurt's hesitance and giving Blaine a pointed look. "I'm sure they all had similar class upbringings and living conditions. Similar education."

"Okay, okay, fair enough. But like I told the judge, none of that matters. And it doesn't. Not in the eyes of the law anyway. The only thing that matters is that the district was constructed house by house and that, my friends, is illegal. Because African Americans aren't the only under represented group in this country. Women, Native Americans, the gay community, atheists. And then you can say that everyone in politics is a lawyer so where are all the doctors, scientists, phycologists, teachers? And so if we say the I-85 district is okay then where will it stop? We'll have districts that are one house on this block and then maybe two on the next. Entire apartment buildings will be split up unit by unit. And so we need to keep districts in square, evenly populated blocks. Like a grid."

"Slippery slope," she chimed. Almost unaware of it, a small smile crept on to Blaine's face while Sam asked for clarification. Blaine already understood perfectly the implication of her words though. "His argument," Dani answered Sam. "It's the slippery slope argument and there's nothing less stable than the slippery slope argument."

Blaine's smiled grew. She was right and she was smart enough to know it. He had always had a soft spot for women who could hold their own in this world. He brought his beer to his lips to hide his approval because he knew from experience that women who could hold their own typically didn't appreciate the approval of their intelligence from the man they were arguing with.

He pulled the bottle from his lips and shrugged. "Some slopes are steeper than others." Blaine hated resorting to slippery slope arguments. By definition, you were starting yourself off on thin ice but he believed in the grid and the I-85 district wasn't a simple step down a ten degree grade. It was a step off a cliff into oblivion.

"I see," Dani said taking a sip of her beer. "So what are you working on now?"

"A similar case in Louisiana."

"So this is literally all you do."

"Yup. As Kurt so kindly put it once, I just fucking play with maps all day. But Quinn and I are just consulting on this one. We're not the trial lawyers."

"You talk about Quinn a lot."

"She's his work wife," Kurt added. "She's blonde."

"Ooh. Like me," Sam piped up. Blaine gave him a nod hoping the conversation could steer more towards hair colours and away from his apparent employment with the devil. He could talk about the colour of Kurt's hair for days and he suspected Dani could do the same about her own blue locks.

"Oh, you know her?" Dani asked Kurt, squashing his hope.

"Well I know who she is. But that's more than I know about anyone else he works with."

"They know about you?"

Kurt huffed out an unamused laugh beside him. "Quinn does."

"I see," Dani said shooting Blaine another one of her dirty looks.

"Excuse me," Blaine said, getting up from the couch, his right side left cold without Kurt's body heat pressing against it. He gathered up a few empty beer bottles and the empty pizza box and took them into the kitchen. He could hear hushed conversation behind him and he knew that if he stopped and tried to listen he would probably be able to but he didn't want to. He sorted the empties into the recycling and then made his way upstairs and into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror he tried to recreate the disapproving looks he'd been on the receiving end of. It was difficult. It was cold and questioning without being ugly. Dani still managed to look cute beneath her scowl which gave him hope that although she made no pause about judging others, her verdict could be swayed in the future if the right argument was presented. It was getting harder to muster that fight though which scared him in a way. There was a part of him that liked how protective Kurt's friends were though. Because, after all, at the end of the day that's what most of the commotion was. They were all just concerned that Kurt had shacked up with some closeted nut case who was composed entirely of internalized homophobia that would seep out of every crevice and take every opportunity to make its hate known. They were all wrong of course but it was amazing how right they were too. It wasn't any sort of internal hate that threatened Kurt. It was the virus, the virus that was ceasing more and more territory within him with every breath.

He opened the cabinet and picked up the first of the six little orange bottles.

* * *

"You okay?"

Blaine looked up from the trial papers he was going over. He hadn't felt up to rejoin the gathering. Kurt was standing in the door way, his beer traded in for two mugs of tea. "Nauseas but I think we're in the clear." He was on minute thirty one and hadn't thrown up his dinner yet. Usually that meant his stomach would let him keep it down.

"Good," Kurt smiled. "They headed out," he added walking into the room and taking a seat beside him on the bed and handing Blaine a mug.

"Thanks," he said taking a sip of the peppermint tea. He had his reservations as to the anti-nausea effects of the drink but Kurt bought it and brewed it for him anyways. Blaine even found a box in his work bag one day. And it was warm and tasted good so he drank it. Blaine sometimes suspected that it helped Kurt more than it helped him. "I'll just be minute."

"Okay," Kurt said, picking up his script.

Blaine glanced over and smiled at all the notes Kurt had made in the margins. It was so marked up that it could have been one of his depositions.

They sat in silence until well after their tea had been drunk and their eyes were growing weary of black font on white pages. He didn't know if he was being paranoid or not but Blaine couldn't help but feel that he grew tired quicker these days. It could be all in his head or it could be just from age but every time he blinked away the sleep or had to go back over the line he had just read, he started to question. Eventually it became too unsettling and he set his work aside. Kurt was still reading, the cap on his pen off and in his mouth so the ink was ready to go. He leant his head onto Kurt's shoulder and closed his eyes. It was raining outside. The pitter patter on the windows was steady and sharp. He hadn`t noticed it before but it was soothing now.

He felt a kiss pressed to the top of his head. "Sorry for the third degree."

He shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be."

Blaine felt Kurt's arm move and heard the familiar scratch of pen on paper. "Well my job may be the problem but it's also afforded me many years of preparation. You looked really good tonight," he continued absentmindedly, moving his hand to rest against the bottom hem of Kurt's shirt. "You had all your lines down and you were really convincing."

"Yeah?" Kurt asked.

Blaine hummed in response and then it was quiet again. Still too. No scribbling. No turning pages. Then Blaine felt Kurt lean away. He winked open an eye to and saw him setting his script and pen on his night stand and then he was leaning back, scooting down the bed a little so he capture Blaine's lips with his.

"I could make it up to you." His tone was playful now, the seriousness seemingly put away for the night with his work.

"What? The interrogation?"

"Mhmm."

"Well that seems a little unnecessary," he laughed as Kurt continued to kiss him, his lips moving to his neck as he talked. "But I'm not protesting."

Kurt quickly climbed on top of his hips, his hands resting on either side of Blaine's head. Blaine could feel his index fingers toying with ends of his curls out from the gel. Their lips connected again, not too pleased at being parted and stayed busy with each other as Kurt's hips worked down in a perfected circular motion on top of his. Blaine placed his hands firmly against his hips but did nothing to guide their movements. Kurt knew what he was doing and did it all too well.

"What did you have in mind?" Blaine asked when his cock was starting strain a little too much against his pants.

Kurt sat up a little, stilling his hips. He looked him hard in the eye. And Blaine knew before the proceeding head nod towards his bedside table where the unused condom from the doctor's office had ended up. He shook his head.

"Okay," Kurt nodded in understanding although Blaine couldn't help but wonder how much he could truly understand and how long they could continue this little dance before something snapped. But his thoughts floated away as Kurt's resumed their motion and his lips returned to his briefly before continuing south.

* * *

"Okay so we got Sam, Dani, Elliot, and you," Kurt said. Blaine steered him through oncoming pedestrians and sign poles as he counted each name on his fingers, while holding his morning coffee in his other hand. Once he had successfully determined his count to be four and raised his head again, Blaine relaxed and took a sip of his own coffee.

"Uh, what is that?" he said, moving his tongue around at the sugary and certainly not coffee flavour in his mouth while staring perplexed at the white, paper cup as if it would tell him.

Kurt stopped and looked at him, taking a sip of his own. "Mine's fine. It's a caramel latte."

"A what?"

"A caramel latte. There's caramel and steamed milk in it. They're all the rage on the West Coast. Try it again. It's good."

Blaine gave him a skeptical look but took another sip. After getting past the initial shock of the lack of bitter punch is was quite good. He licked some of the milk foam from his lips and turned back to Kurt. Before he could voice his approval though he was met with a bright grin and a quick kiss. It was over and Kurt was continuing down the street before he could begin to panic about being in public.

"Well that was nice," he said when he had caught up. Kurt smiled and gave him a nod. "This is nice too," he said holding up his cup.

"Yeah, James recommended it the other day."

"James?"

"Dread locks. Form Seattle."

"Oh yeah." Blaine remembered him from the St. Patrick's Day party. Mostly because he hadn't seen too many white guys with dread locks in his life.

"Yeah, he says there's some coffee shop there that specializes in these things. He says they're even better than this. He said they've expanded into Canada and along the coast too. So maybe it'll pop up here one day."

"Interesting." Blaine spoke more about Kurt's enthusiasm than the caramel coffee or the shop that promised more. Kurt just had that ability, to indulge his inner child and let his excitement shine without fear of judgement. If fairy tales existed and Blaine could have his own he would spend his long life learning everything he could about Kurt, like his butt wigging and which coffee he deemed acceptable – which he suspected, highly sweetened concoctions with caramel would now have to be added to the list – but most importantly, which things brought him enough joy to ramble in speech and bounce in stride. For the last five months Blaine had more or less watched Kurt fuss over him and it was nice to see that other, more pleasant, things still filled his mind. It gave him hope that when this virus finally won, Kurt wouldn't die alongside him. If it was other way around, Blaine was fairly certain he'd be in the ground the next day. "Well if it does I'll have to take you."

"Promise?"

"The day it opens."

Kurt beamed at him and he beamed back.

"Okay, so back to tickets. There's four of you but I can get six. I was thinking maybe you'd like to invite Quinn."

"Oh," Blaine said, shocked at the suggestion. Although he tended to bring stacks of paper home with him, the people at the office were never invited over. The drive to work in the morning was only twenty minutes but sometimes it felt like he was traversing two completely different worlds. And these worlds may revolve around the same sun but they approach it from different angles and receive its light in different ways. It wasn't just the highway that kept these worlds separate and he did not want to be the one in the crossfire if they were ever to be brought together. Quinn, although accepting in theory, would find herself in shock when presented with it all, loud, and flamboyantly in person. And Kurt who was initially drawn to his courtroom status would finally crumble after years of unsteady ground under Quinn's inevitable laps in composure. He would break up with him and Quinn would turn around and spill the secret she had kept for years around the office and he would be fired. He could see it in his mind clear as day. The union would be as monstrous as the I-85 district and it was his job to strike it down. "Uh, I don't… I just don't really know why I would."

"Do you need a reason?" Kurt asked with a smirk. "The world isn't broken up into little isolated compartments. Everything's already connected. It's like a grid."


	9. Chapter 9

June 1993

* * *

"How was that?" Kurt asked with a cringe on his face.

"Kurt, it sounded great. I promise," Blaine said. He was holding a script attacked with pencil marks and neon purple high lighter in one hand and a paper towel role in the other.

"You sure?" Kurt asked, holding his own paper towel role. "The balance was okay?"

"Yes." Blaine couldn't hold back a chuckle and an eye role as he spoke. They'd been caught in this cyclic conversation for the past week and he doubted it would end any time before opening night. He wouldn't be surprised if it lasted through until closing. He had to admit though, he kind of liked it. Especially these days, it was rare for Kurt to be the flustered one turning to him for reassurance. Even though Kurt told him over and over that he wanted to be here, Blaine still questioned it every time their quiet evenings were interrupted by his stomach turning into a geyser. Sometimes he felt like old faithful but in a way more literal than anyone would want. Pan rehearsal though, changed all that. He finally believed that Kurt could want this and want him because every night he asked for help instead of doing it on his own or with someone else and Kurt had plenty of friends within the theatre community. But it was Blaine he went to and initially, Blaine thought he might be taking pity on him but then he asked for opinions and tried out his suggestions with an effort that could only mean he valued his thoughts. It made him feel needed in this relationship and that was an amazing feeling that made his heart thump in the way it had all those years ago when they first met. "No, it was great. Your concern for Tink totally showed and-"

"It wasn't too melodramatic?"

"No. And then when you flipped back into the moment there was definitely more severity in your voice. It was perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmmm." Blaine nodded, a sense of pride filling him at the brilliance of the boy he got to call his.

"Okay. It's just Peter doesn't actually have many lines so I need to nail the ones I do."

"I know," Blaine humored. "Want to go again?"

"Really? You're not too tired? I don't want to keep you from sleeping."

"No," Blaine shook his head. "Not tired at all." Jumping around the living room that had been rearranged to resemble the pirate ship set in the evenings with fake swords actually drained less of his energy than pouring over depositions did. He didn't understand the science behind it but he wasn't too concerned. He had more important things on his mind, like playing every part other than Peter.

Kurt beamed at his answer and quickly ran over to his starting position for the scene on Captain Hook's ship. "Okay, okay, so just watch for the balance."

"Yes, Peter."

* * *

"I should get some of that." Quinn leant over his shoulder while he dunked his peppermint tea bag in and out of his mug. His stomach was not being kind today. He'd thrown up after breakfast but the nausea still lingered. He was still skeptical about the whole tea thing but sometimes nausea seemed like a mind over matter thing and so why not pop – or brew up – a few placebos along with the rest of his drug cocktail. "I'm getting sick of the coffee," she said pouring herself a mug of the black liquid from the communal office pot that was starting to rust like the one his parents had.

"Kurt wouldn't be caught dead drinking that."

"No?"

"Oh no. First thing he did when he moved back in was go out and buy some acceptable coffee."

"So he moved in, did he?"

"Oh, I guess. He still has his place but yeah, he stays at mine seven days a week," he said picking up his mug and taking a sip. The hot liquid sliding down his throat always felt good. He watched Quinn take a sip of her own and wrinkle up her nose. "You want a bag?" he offered, shaking his box of tea.

"No, no," she waved him off and swiped a few stray hairs from her high pony tail out of her face. "I need the caffeine. So, uh, you going to make it official then? Sell his place?"

"Uh, no. Probably not," he said shuffling his feet. Kurt needed to keep his place because he wasn't sure how the courts would handle his will and he didn't want him suddenly out on the street in the midst of all the other chaos that came with death. They had never talked about it but Kurt had never made any hints so Blaine suspected he knew. "It's complicated," he added after receiving a judgmental look from Quinn.

"Okay," she said raising her hands in surrender.

A wave of nausea hit him. He had learned that about nausea over the past five months. It came in waves and the peaks would grow sequentially in intensity and then die down again. He thought he was on the downward turn but it was hard to tell. He clenched up his free hand and shut his eyes and focused on breathing. In through his nose and out through his mouth.

"None of my business. How's your cross exam coming?"

"Fine." Really, it was barely coming at all. He'd been fighting off nausea all morning that it had been too hard to focus.

"That's good. Hey, are you okay? Are you going to pass out again?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm fine," he said turning to look at her.

"You sure? You've been scaring me lately."

"It's nothing. Hey, I was going to ask you something. Kurt's playing Peter in the arts festival Peter Pan production. We have an extra ticket. Wanna come?" Even as he said it, Blaine wasn't convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that this was a good idea but he need a distraction.

* * *

Blaine couldn't help his nerves. His knee was bouncing again and Quinn had to reach out a hand and still it on several occasions. The fact that she was there was part of the problem. He was worried she wouldn't like the production and would begin to question his choice in boyfriend and he was worried Kurt's friends would drill into her the way thy drilled into him. Mostly though, he was nervous for Kurt. He had sat with him backstage while he was getting ready and Blaine had notice he'd been very quiet. Since they had gotten back together, their relationship had been mostly about him but now it was finally Kurt's time to shine and wanted to the audience to be blinded by his brilliance. And he had no doubt that Kurt was beyond capable, he was just worried that nerves would get in his way. Blaine had walked out of the dressing room and to his seat between Quinn and Sam with less confidence than he had walked in with. His loss of confidence though must have been found by Kurt though because the moment the lights went up on the dark stage, illuminating Kurt, arms crossed and a pout on his face, he was Peter. Blaine stopped fidgeting in his seat, playing with his playbook and then his shirt and then back to his playbook. He stopped glancing nervously beside him at Quinn far too frequently for it to go unnoticed. Everything was just Kurt. He didn't see the set and all its ferry light lit foliage, nor did he see the rest of the audience. Kurt completely drew his focus.

All he saw were the green spandex tights that outlined every muscle in his legs and the dress like, long green tunic that swished just so every time he moved his hips. His hat pushed his bangs down across his forehead but somehow it didn't make him look as young as it usually did when they'd been wetted down by the shower. Somehow, while stomping around the stage like a petulant child who hadn't grown up, he managed to look more like an adult than Blaine had ever seen him. The unusual wavering confidence that had plagued him all last week was gone. The stage was his and it would take a fool to try and take it from him. The transformation captivated Blaine and he knew it was all Kurt and he didn't question for a minute that Kurt could have gotten up there without him and been just as brilliant but his heart still fluttered knowing that he had had the privilege of being a part of the process.

"It was that dog!" Kurt said from centre stage with a stomp, breaking Blaine from his seeming trance. "That Nana dog!"

Blaine was so caught up in Kurt that he couldn't even remember what the dog had done even though he'd acted out the script countless times. He shook his head a little to try and pay a little more attention to the play and little less to his boyfriend and the waking butterflies in his stomach at the knowledge that Kurt was _his_ and truly wanted to be. He still couldn't help feeling a tinge of jealousy along with Tink at Peter's want to visit Wendy. He was _his_ and Blaine had a sudden, all consuming, urge to make that known.

Curtain call was a blur. He knew he was on his feet for most of it and his hands and throat were now far too sore for a production of this size but the kiss Kurt blew him after taking his bow made the possibility of looking like a complete nut case worth it.

After curtain call, Blaine made his way over to the make shift stage door. He was surrounded mostly be little kids and their parents but there were a few others who looked like significant others. He had bought a single red rose from a vendor on his way to the show earlier and held in tightly in his hands while he waited without thought to how everyone else would react to his gift to his boyfriend.

"Peter!" the kids all cheered when Kurt emerged from behind the wall of potted ferns, all but shoving their programs in his face.

Kurt looked right at Blaine though, blue eyes bright and wide, flicking down to the rose in his hand and growing impossibly blue-er. He then turned to crowd of kids. "Hi," he beamed back at them. "Just give me a second."

And then he was in Blaine's arms, sure and unapologetic. Blaine kissed him hard on the cheek. "So?" Kurt whispered.

"You were amazing. Absolutely amazing." He pulled back and held out the rose. "This is for you."

Kurt took it and inhaled its sweet petals. He shook his head and laughed. "You're just the sweetest."

"Come'ere," he cupped Kurt's cheeks in both hands and kissed him, feeling that incredible smile against his lips. "Amazing."

"Hold this?" Kurt asked handing him back the rose after they parted their lips. He nodded slightly towards the eagerly awaiting fans. Blaine had almost forgot about them, a running theme for the night. "You don't mind do you?"

"Not at all." And he didn't. He did want Kurt to himself but Kurt had just made it very clear that he was hands down the most important thing to him right now. And that was something that Blaine needed time to process. Yes, it was a small production in Washington DC and yes, a large portion of the audience still had their baby teeth but Kurt had still gotten a standing ovation and he still had fans nipping at his heels for an autograph and despite all that, Kurt still glanced back in his directing every now and then as he scribbled his name in playbills and asked everyone what their favorite parts were. He looked so happy and Blaine wanted nothing more than to keep him smiling for as long as he could.

Kurt signed every last playbill that was presented to him as Blaine looked on fondly and when he was finally done, he skipped over to him, taking his rose back and kissing him once again. Blaine happily obliged and slipped their hands together.

Once they were home, Blaine couldn't wait another minute. He turned Kurt against the wall beside the door and slammed their bodies then lips together. Kurt gasped deliciously into the kiss, clearly taken by surprise but he then he began to kiss back. Blaine felt his arms come up around his neck and he took that as a sign to keep going. He moved one of his hands from Kurt's hip and braced it against the wall for leverage so he could grind his hips forwards. A combined groan echoed through the front entrance way as Kurt rolled his hips up in response. His jeans tightened and his body began to feel warm and loose.

"Well this is nice," Kurt said, pulling his lips away just slightly.

"Yeah." Blaine move his lips along his jaw.

"Bit of a surprise."

"Yeah."

"You uh, you uh, oh! You gonna tell-"

"What makes you sure? Why do you want to?" He asked, resting his forehead on Kurt's shoulder and letting his lips nip lightly against his neck.

"Oh." A thud now echoed from Kurt dropping his head against the wall. "I guess, I mean they say it's basically safe. I wouldn't be okay bare. But here, the risk seems worth it, you know. This isn't very romantic, is it?"

"It's okay. I want to know."

"I've told you before."

"I know." It was different this time though. Before Blaine had been so adamantly opposed that he hadn't really be able to listen. "What's the risk worth?"

"You. Normalcy. Just some sense of victory over this. 'Cause it's going to kill you but we're not going to let it take everything away."

"What, what if?" The looseness from moments ago was gone.

"Then I'll deal." Blaine felt the heaviness of Kurt's exhale. "Thousands of other have. And I hate to say it, because this isn't some suicide pact thing. At all. But once you're, you're g-gone… It's not that life wouldn't be liveable or anything but… It, it's hard.

"Yeah," he agreed. Kurt's voice had begun to quiver and Blaine moved his arms to wrap around him. Kurt did the same and they just held each other in silence for a while. Tears weren't exactly what he had envisioned for the evening but they were kind of inevitable. "Kinda killed the mood there, didn't I?"

"No," Kurt chuckled. "Maybe hospitalized it. Broken limb or something. Was there a reason?"

And Blaine could tell that Kurt already knew there was a reason and what it was. Attacking him before they even stepped out of their shoes was a bit of a giveaway. But he still had to say it and most likely articulate why because this was just too big to entre without both of them being entirely sure and entirely clear as to why.

"I want to." He rested his forehead against Kurt's. "I want to try. If you're still okay with it, of course."

Blaine kept his eyes closed but he felt Kurt nod. "Okay."

"Okay?"

When Kurt didn't give him an answer, Blaine winked open an eye. His boyfriend was waiting with a soft smile. "Yes. If you're sure."

"I am."

"What changed?"

Blaine huffed out a breath. "I guess I just never really listened before. Sometimes I'd question if you actually wanted to be with me or if it was some pity thing.

"It's not. Not at all."

"I know. Now, at least. And there was no way you could actually be okay with the 'what if' if this was just a pity thing. But, I don't know, these last few weeks you seemed to actually need me instead of the other way around. It just finally felt two sided again. And then just seeing you work so hard and just go after what you wanted and then kill it… I mean, you were brilliant tonight. I don't know, it just reiterated how talented and smart and driven you are. And – I know this is going to sound bad – but how totally capable you are at making your own decisions. And how good you are at it. I mean you chose a somewhat unconventional career but you did it because it was right for you and its working."

"You realize this is like a two month, bottom of the food chain, gig, right? I was signing autographs for kids who actually thought I was Peter Pan."

"Yeah but you were really good and everyone saw it. And it was kinda really hot."

"Oh my god. It was a children's play," Kurt said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"So?"

"So?"

"So what?"

"So you've got me pinned against a wall here. Are you going to do anything about that?"

He pulled Kurt by the hand up the stairs and into the bedroom and clothes flew off just as quickly as that night back in January but this time they didn't stop.

It took longer than it used to. Before they had broken up they had gotten it down to nine minutes but this time it was closer to thirty. Everything was careful and slow and back in those early days Blaine knew he would have seen it as torturous but not now. Now was different somehow.


	10. Chapter 10

August 1993

* * *

It was noon as they crossed the Ohio state line. Even with his sunglasses, Blaine found it bright. Bright and hot. All four windows were down and as the car speed along the highway and the wind that wiped by him at least made the Midwest summer sun bearable.

As a sign welcomed them to Ohio, Blaine turned to Kurt. His boyfriend had his shoeless feet propped up on the dash and a notebook in his lap that he was writing away in. Blaine didn't understand how Kurt could work in the car. He always got motion sick if his eyes were anywhere but the road ahead.

"Wha'cha writing?" he asked. He had to yell a bit so his voice could be heard over the noise of the wind and the other cars on the highway.

"Nothing," Kurt replied. Blaine chuckled to himself when Kurt didn't look up or lift his pen, a clear indication that he was indeed writing _something_. "What?" Kurt finally lifted his head.

"You're just very concentrated for someone doing nothing."

That earned him an eye role. "It's just not for sharing yet."

"You arty types are always so secretive with your work. We're in Ohio by the way."

"Oh. That was quick." Kurt turned away from him to gaze out at the road and the fields on either side of it. It looked just like the road and the fields before the boarder but Blaine could tell that Kurt saw a difference.

"What was your favorite thing about Ohio as a kid?"

"Favorite?" he asked setting down his pen.

"Yeah, you must have some good memories."

"Oh I don't know. Maybe the openness. I'm definitely a city person but when Mercedes and I got our licenses, would just hope in a car and drive and there were so many deserted back roads that just went on forever. The world just seemed so big and it made all the ass holes at school seem so small and insignificant."

Blaine hummed in response, noting ironically that his world seemed to be collapsing in on itself, following the line of the highway as it disintegrated into a single point in the distance. His eyes fixed on that point of oblivion, where everything would come to a head, forcing him to face their every existence but at the same time it all failing to exist at all. Speeding towards that point, his world became smaller and smaller and his troubles bigger. He could not find the escape in it that Kurt could. Why did Kurt get to run and not him?

"How about you?" Kurt asked, taking him from his thoughts. "What's your favourite thing about Indiana?"

"Notre Dame," he answered confidently without having to think.

"Doesn't count," Kurt answered, somehow making his voice sound like the wrong answer buzzer on Jeopardy. "You weren't a kid."

"Yours is when you were sixteen."

"In the eyes of the law, Mr. Lawyer, sixteen is two years shy of the adult mark."

"Minors can be tried as adults."

"But can adults be tried as minors? I didn't think so."

"Well, actually, they can. If they were minors-"

"Oh my god. Here we go."

"Yes. Here we do go. If they were a minor when they committed the crime but then turned eighteen before or during the trial then technically, they would be an adult being tried as a minor."

"Jesus. Okay so how old were you when you started university?"

Blaine sighed and ducked his head a little before mumbled "Eighteen."

"I'm sorry. What was that? I couldn't hear over the wind."

Blaine didn't have to look to know Kurt had a smirk on his face. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I don't exactly know why there are rules to this but fine. I guess I always liked church as a kid. I had lots of friends there and I loved singing in the choir."

"Is that weird now?"

"Yeah," Blaine nodded. I was very weird now. He loved church when he was little and because he loved it he listened to the sermons without question. If things had been different, it probably would not have caused him too much grief. He learned the importance of patients, self-control, about being kind and respectful to others, and about always trying to use his knowledge and abilities to do good in the world. It wasn't until he was older that some of the other teachings began to sit oddly with him, or maybe more accurately, his own self, began to sit oddly with some of the teachings and suddenly, the thing he had loved as a child turned on him as his body refused to cooperate and rid itself of a seemingly Devil's curse.

"What do you believe now?" Kurt asked curiously.

"Nothing. I know some people just take that good parts and keep going but I guess I've taken a scientific approach. Although, I guess now it seems science has decided to turn on me as well."

Kurt snorted out a laugh. "I'm sorry. Sorry. But you just can't win, can you?"

"Nope," he smiled. "Maybe I should have chosen a different career."

* * *

"Here we are," Blaine said, looking out the car window on the in a sort of disparaging disbelief. He'd been here before. Several times. He knew she hadn't moved or anything, they drove here for goodness sakes but there was always that smallest sliver of hope that something had changed. Blaine was getting used to living on that pathetic, childlike, beyond any rational or universal law plea and applying it to other day to day experiences, like getting a parking spot within a block of the office after leaving late for work because his head was in the toilet longer than the allotted twenty minutes. And this, well this meant more to him than a good parking spot.

"It's…nice?"

"It's a wreck." The double wide trailer was in desperate need of paint and the side gutter was dangling from the roof. He could see holes, the size of a small plate, in the black screen on the front door. The lot it was sitting on didn't fare much better. The dented, metal garbage can was overflowing and where there was grass, it was browning and sparse, course with death and drought and neglect. Mostly though, it was gravel, dusty and grey.

The car was getting uncomfortably hot, sitting idle in the summer sun but outside looked more unwelcoming. Blaine was beginning to think they should just turn around a head home. Even stopping off in Ohio on the way back to visit Kurt's very protective father and telling him was beginning to look more appealing this. There was no use trying though. Kurt had been trying to get him to Indiana since January and unfortunately for Blaine, the summer theatre season ended before the summer work lull around his office and so he had run out of excuses. And now that he was here, he knew Kurt would not be above jumping out of the car if he threw it in reverse and refusing to get back in until he saw Rachel.

"Well, she didn't know we were coming. She didn't have a chance to tidy up." Blaine finally looked away from the disaster in front of him and turned to Kurt, his eyebrow raised. No one should be living like this, guests or not. It looked like a tornado had come through overnight but they had been on the road for the past nine hours and there had been nothing but clear skies. And honestly, he had his doubts about Rachel's relief abilities even given ample warning. "Oh, come on. She's a single mother of two. It's not like she has a lot of options here."

"I guess," Blaine relented. "Not any more at least."

* * *

January 1974

* * *

"Here's your laundry."

"Thanks," Blaine smiled. He looked up from his duffle bag though as he heard the click of his bedroom door shutting. He watched as Rachel walked over to his bed and set the basket of clean clothes down opposite him.

"I needed the drier," she shrugged. He glanced back at his closed bedroom door because usually Rachel would have simply shrieked at him from down stairs when his clothes were done so there was definitely something else. "Dance rehearsal tomorrow."

"Man they get right back at it after Christmas break, don't they?" He grabbed his Notre Dame hoodie from the top of the pile and threw in on over his t-shirt. It did a good job of hiding the weight he'd gained over the last week or so from turkey and stuffing and baked goods.

"Yeah but it's the best part of school so whatever."

"Is the rest of school going okay?" He asked, trying to throw out lines for her to grab while picking up a shirt from the top of the pile and folding it and placing it into his bag.

"Yeah. Yeah, no school's fine," she answered picking up a shirt and folding it as well. "You must be excited to get back."

"You have no idea," Blaine chuckled. Being home was now awkward at best. His father's little comments hadn't stopped after the Christmas party. "Started working on your college apps?"

"I've had my NYU application filled out since freshman year."

Blaine smiled remembering how Rachel had sat next to him at the kitchen table practicing her NYU admissions letter four years ago while he worked on his for Notre Dame. Broadway was a far cry from law but her drive matched his mile for mile.

"You're going to get in, you know? You're brilliant and although I think it's insanity, some people might see it as dedication."

Usually that would have earned him a playful slap but she didn't even seen to register the jab today. "I know. I'm just not sure I'll be able to go now," she said, her eyes down, focused too intensely on the pair of jeans she was folding. He could see the beginnings of tears forming.

"Rach?" She shook her head and he could tell she was trying to keep from crying. "Rach, come on. It's me."

"I'm pregnant," she whispered, her big brown eyes still downcast and covered by her long brown hair.

"Fuck." It was all he could say. He was frozen in shock and heartbreak for his sister. "Finn?"

She nodded.

"Fuck." This time there was anger behind the word. He'd only met Finn a handful of times but it was easy to see the boy was a loser. Blaine had gone to high school with his own share of Finns. They were quarterbacks who were good enough to earn stardom within small minded high schools but that was about it. They lure people to them though because high school is one of those things that boxes people in so tight that they can't see beyond it into the vast world that swallows guys like Finn whole and unapologetically. They can't see how they're actually not good enough to get scouted for a college team or how they're not smart enough to get into college otherwise. They can't see how there's nothing besides football in their brains and how their inflated ego makes their own realization of peaking in high school a higher peak to fall from. And so girls get tangled in their web of mediocrity at best, losing their own dreams along the way and end up impregnated by a guy who graduated a year ahead them and still lives in his mother's house, drinking beer and playing video games.

"He, he's a good guy, Blaine," she pleaded.

"He's ruined your life, Rach. You must see that."

"Of course I see that," she yelled. "Why do you think I'm crying?"

He looked at her and saw the fear and hopelessness now. "Shit, I'm sorry. Rachel, I'm so sorry. Come here." He open his arms and she walked around the bed and tucked herself into them. "I just…" He just wanted the world for her.

"It's okay," she sniffled into his chest. "I know."

He rubbed her back and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Mom and dad don't know, do they?"

Rachel shook her head.

He couldn't imagine she would want to tell them especially witnessing how they had handled his coming out. And at least he had had years to come to terms with his predicament and didn't have a ticking clock to deal with. He had had the chance to settle his faith and his own morals and values and find love within himself again instead of the turmoil he was sure was brewing within his sister. He could have gone his whole life without telling his parents and oddly enough, that lack of pressure made it easier.

"How long do you have?"

"Maybe another month if I start dressing strategically. I'm three months along. I need one of these," she said plucking at his hoodie.

"I'll send you one," he smiled into her hair. "If I were you, I'd get as much as a plan together as I could before telling them. And, I hate to say it, but the more Finn is in the picture, the better it'll look to them."

"It's not all his fault."

"Yeah, well, it's just easier that way."

* * *

August 1993

* * *

"Well, should we get out?" Kurt asked.

"Is anyone even home?"

"Well I don't know. You would know better than I would. Go knock."

Blaine followed his instructions. He had a suspicion that he'd be carrying out marching orders this entire trip. In some ways it was nice. He didn't have to think as much and thinking lead to dark places these days. It was a little cooler outside the car but still far too hot for six in the evening. He walked up to the door and knocked. When he got no answer, he returned to the car where Kurt had once again pulled out his note book.

"Wha'cha writing?"

"We've had this conversation. No one home?"

"Nope. And so? I'm curious."

"Clearly."

"Will I ever get to know?"

"Possibly. Depends how far I get," Kurt answered, head down, pen moving.

"Is it a play?"

"Yes."

"What's it about?"

"Too many questions."

"Well what am I supposed to do while I sit here and wait in the heat? Why do you get to bring work with you on trips but I can't?"

"Because this isn't work. It's art."

"Oh my god. I'm dating a freak," he said, reclining his car seat and kicking off his shoes.

"And I'm dating a Republican lawyer."

* * *

**A/N: alright, that one was a little shorter but I hope you all still enjoyed it!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: hey guys! so i got myself a job. like a real, full time job that pays more than minimum wage and that i can apply my university education to and it's very exciting. however, it also leaves me a lot less time to write. so i may only be updating every two weeks from now on. i know that sucks but there's not a lot i can do. sorry. but in the mean time, here's chapter 11. hope you enjoy!**

* * *

August 1993

* * *

Blaine was startled awake by the insistent tapping of Kurt's notebook on his thigh. He groaned blinking his eyes open at his boyfriend. The sun was setting somewhere off in the distant west and the light was streaming in the passenger window behind Kurt making his hair glow golden while the pinky orange sky brought out the sheer blue of his eyes. Blaine would have happily stared at the heavenly sight until Kurt inevitably given him a playful slap in accusation of him being creepy or dumb but the wrist watch shoved in his face blocked his view.

"It's going on eight. You need to take your medication and you need food."

"I'm okay," he answered, sitting up and turning around to see the empty driveway behind them. Not that he thought Rachel had shown up. Kurt would have woken him if she did.

"Blaine. You're border line anemic. You need food."

Blaine knew Kurt was right but the bite of hunger had yet to hit him. He suspected his nerves were suppressing it and tried not to let his mind wander to the potentiality that his body may not actually want food because it may be beginning the process of shutting down.

"We can come back after food and pills but if she's not in, I think we should just grab a hotel for the night and try back in the morning."

"Okay," Blaine nodded, taking a last look at the double wide trailer before turning the key in the ignition and back out of the dusty gravel.

* * *

"Ow!" Blaine pouted, retracting his hand quickly from Kurt's fries after it was slapped away. They were seated in a booth in a far corner of the McDonald's, agreeing that they'd already spent too much time in the car to handle the drive through.

"Serves you right," Kurt smirked.

"Oh, come on." He clutched his hand that didn't even hold a sting to his chest and rubbed at it hoping to gain some sympathy points. "I just wanted one."

"That McProcessedGrease is poison enough," Kurt said without any sign of remorse. This was going to be a tough one. He'd already had to convince Kurt that fast food was their best option if they were planning on swinging back by Rachel's.

"Are you really denying a dying man one of this country's greatest feats?"

Kurt snorted and shook his head. "Well he's not just any man, is he? He's the man I love. And I would deny him every country's greatest feat if it meant I could spend one more day with him," he finally said in a tone far too serious for a foiled French fry heist.

"Well that's selfish," Blaine smiled in an awkward attempt to lighten the mood. McDonald's didn't seem like the place for this. Although in a way, McDonald's was the perfect place for it because this was life after all, fast paced and half assed, stripped of true thought or care. And life, well life had a habit of ending. It _was_ only to not be anymore and so why not deal with the real consequences of life here, in a grease factory that was an unapologetic product of it?

Kurt gave him a half smile in return that did not quite reach his eyes. Blaine didn't blame him. He stretched his leg out under the table and nudged Kurt's foot with his.

After eating and medicating, they drove back to Rachel's. There was still no car and the lights were all off. Now though, it was probably for the best considering Blaine couldn't even open his eyes while he focused on keeping his dinner down. As Kurt backed the car out onto the street to drive back towards the town to find a hotel for the night he mentioned something about the whereabouts of his nieces but Blaine didn't even attempt an answer.

* * *

December 1972

* * *

Finals came quicker than Blaine expected. He thought being in his second year he'd be a little more prepared and in reality, maybe he was more prepared, but it certainly didn't feel like it. With his book bag stuffed with all his note books and a handful of multi-coloured pens, Blaine made his way across campus from his dorm to the library and up to the second floor after making a quick stop for coffee. An unjustified level of annoyance hit him when he spotted someone sitting at his favorite table but that quickly dissolved into embarrassment when he recognized the messy, light brown hair. Jake seemed busy enough that he could possibly sneak by him without being noticed and so Blaine put his head down, and turned it slightly away from the table and shuffled his feet as quickly and as quietly as he could along the linoleum floor.

He made it past the table without incident and was just straightening up his posture when an odd rattling noise approached him. Catching the motion, his eyes moved from his runners to a pen rolling past his feet. He came to a stop as it did and bent down to pick it up almost automatically. When he turned around to return it to its rightful owner though, he immediately regretted his innate kindness.

Jake was looking back at him, his upper body swiveled around in his chair and several more pens in his hand. He was smiling but Blaine was still weary. His cheeks were already heating up and he already felt like the biggest dweeb in the world. He didn't need some smart comment the highlight the point further. Unfortunately, he had picked up the pen and couldn't very well just walk away with it so he took a deep breath and walked back towards his favorite, and very much occupied table.

"Oh good," Jake said when he was close enough that they could speak at library acceptable levels. "The first one went under the book shelf and I do actually need these." He waved the hand that was clutching the other pens.

"Right." Blaine set the one he picked up down on the table and went to walk away.

"Hey. Hold up. Lookin' for a table?"

"Um no. No it's fine."

"Oh just sit," he said, pushing out the chair opposite his with his foot under the table.

Blaine had always been a bit of a people pleaser and he didn't want to start drawing attention to himself and his reddened cheeks so he sat. "You could have just offered in the first place." He reached out a finger to role the pen he had previously placed down on the table towards Jake.

"Finals. I'm a bit loopy," he chuckled.

"Only thing that keeps me sane," Blaine said nodding to his coffee cup and trying his best to return the smile even though he was sure it came across more as a wince. Everything was just too tight and tense. Jake seemed relaxed though and he looked as cute as ever which made it all worse. He began rummaging through his book bag for his notes in hopes of preventing further awkward facial expressions.

"Look man, don't worry about the car thing. You're not ready. Still stuck in boob land." Blaine didn't think he'd ever been in boob land. Maybe he hadn't quite entered cock land but he was definitely ready for shoulders and abs and the scruff guys got in the morning before they shaved. He didn't correct Jake though. After his display, or lack thereof, in the car, he didn't really feel in the position to. "That's cool. But I know a bunch of guys and we all go out to this gay pub whenever school isn't all up our asses. You should come. Just grab a beer and sit at the bar. Just watch and hang out. It'll help."

* * *

February 1975

* * *

"Oh my god. What the fuck is that?" Jake grumbled, his face buried into the pillow and his body sprawled out on the bed beside Blaine.

"Sorry, sorry," Blaine winced.

"Anderson!" came a shout from the floor. "Shut. Up."

"I'm sorry," he stage whispered hitting the many buttons on the hotel alarm clock in a random and somewhat frantic manner to hush its blaring.

"Jesus Christ man, thank god," came another unhappy groan once he'd found the correct button. He hoped for his sake that it wasn't the snooze button. In his defense though, nine thirty really wasn't that early. The sun had probably been up for hours now – although he'd have never guessed it with the standard issue hotel black out curtains pulled and he had to at least give them props for remembering to shut them when they all stumbled in drunk last night – and they were all used to getting up with it's morning rays for class. He supposed they did tend to go to bed before four on school days though and consume less alcohol but their hangovers weren't his problem and his bleary eyes could be easily ridden with a bit of caffeine.

He climbed out of bed and carefully manoeuvered his way through the strewn limbs and duffel bags. They had crammed eight guys into one room to save money and as drunk as everyone was, sleeping on the floor didn't seem to be an issue. Blaine smiled when he only counted seven bodies. At least someone got lucky last night while he had hovered close to the bar. Despite the cigarette smoke, the club was still a breath of fresh air after Christmas with his father. For three nights though he hadn't been able to drink away the feeling though that it was his father's comments that had knocked him back to the bar and that a pre-Christmas trip would have seen him out of the floor grinding away with the rest of his friends. The ten hour drive to the city wasn't a bust for him though. It was actually just what he needed.

After a quick splash of water to his face, he brushed his teeth and threw on some jeans and stepped quietly out the door. He stopped at the breakfast bar for caffeine and then hit the street. Even on Sunday the New York city sidewalks were packed. He was almost run over and definitely lost a few sips of coffee when he stopped moving mid-stream to orient himself. Blaine didn't mind though. The hustle and bustle was kind of exhilarating after growing up in such a small town. Everyone had a purpose here, a mission, and none of them were about to stop or let someone else get in their way. They walked their path with a goal in sight and were not about to side step around others, inhabiting the grid their city was built on. He definitely saw the draw it had on Rachel. She was the most one track mind person he knew. He just needed it to keep pulling and keep pulling hard.

He made his way south and with ease found Washington Square Park, another perk to the grid system. The NYU campus was just east of the park and as he crossed the street towards it, he wished Rachel was with him. She wasn't though but he could do the next best thing and bring NYU to her in the form of an oversized, purple hoodie that would hopefully serve two functions.

* * *

August 1993

* * *

"Oh my god, make it stop," Kurt grumbled, burring his face further into Blaine's chest

"Sorry. Sorry." Blaine flailed his arm over the side of the bed to reach the alarm clock. Finding the right button was hard as he tried to move a little as possible so the Kurt's body didn't need to be disturbed alongside his ears. He did find it though and let out a breath of relief as the morning quiet returned to the hotel room.

"Thank god."

"We still have to get up," Blaine chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter around Kurt's still sleep limp body, loving the way he felt, heavy and warm on top of him.

"It's vacation," Kurt protested.

Blaine huffed a breath at that. He'd never before had a vacation that came with this big of a load. "It's more of a mission."

"Missions require ample sleep in order to be carried out properly," Kurt said, propping himself up above Blaine in a seeming surrender.

"Is there even a proper way to tell someone you have AIDS?"

Kurt didn't answer. He just looked down at him for a while. Blaine didn't question it. He could look back up at Kurt and his clear blue eyes, watery with sleep, and messy, untamed hair. The way he was supporting himself made his collar bone jut out, making it more prominent than usual and he just looked so soft gorgeous in the early morning sun. Kurt leant down and kissed him.

"I've got you."

Kurt drove them back to Rachel's again this morning. This time when their car tires began to crunch along the dusty gravel driveway there was a car parked at the end of it. He recognized the other car as their grandparent's old ford escort. It was terribly rusty around the wheel wells and he just picture the hazy fumes it would give off while running.

"Well?" Kurt turned to him expectantly as he put the car in park.

"Right," he answered absentmindedly chewing on the inside of his cheek and looking out the windshield to avoid eye contact.

"You should probably get out. Don't want to freak her out with a random car just sitting outside her house."

"Right."

"You okay?" Kurt asked bringing his hand to Blaine's knee.

"Yeah. It's just there's no going back now, is there?" When he booked the time off work he knew he wasn't ready to do this but he had hoped that as time went by, it would erode the mountain that lay in front of him. It was still as big as ever as he packed though, his toiletry bag bigger than ever with all the pill bottles, and seemed to grow bigger with ever mile they drove.

"Blaine," Kurt said softly, giving his knee a squeeze. Blaine turned to him and saw all the sincerity and support in the world swimming within the ever blue of his eyes. "You don't have to do this. Many people don't. We could just say we were here for a surprise visit. That we were in Ohio to see my dad and thought, hey, why not?"

"She wouldn't buy that for a second."

"We could make something up. Like you were fired or we got engaged."

"Improbable and illegal. Next."

"You say that like they would arrest us," Kurt said with an amused grin.

"Well back in the day, they would have." In some very small and very sarcastic part of his brain, probably greatly inspired by Kurt over the years, Blaine almost wished he was back in those days. A neighbour would have seen them sitting in the car and seen the way Kurt had no doubt fiddled with his hair while he was asleep and called the sheriff who would have come down, shot gun a blazing, and arrested them for sodomy and then it'd be done. He could sit in a jail cell and be done with life. He wouldn't have to worry about telling anyone. He wouldn't have to worry about his health deteriorating because what was there to do in a jail cell all day? And then when the AIDS finally took him, he'd be happy about it because there wouldn't be a full and worthy life to be missed. Or he might get lucky and be shanked by his homophobic cell mate and never have to taste the bitterness of his body giving in to smallest of bugs.

But no one got arrested these days. If he went to the right neighbourhood he could still probably get himself shanked but he knew he'd never be brave enough to stare death in the eyes at his own volition. And so he was left here, in the car, feet away from his sister who he had to tell because although he didn't want to and although Kurt would be there if he walked away, he'd seen too much too often. Because the men down in the Circle in DC or the Castro in San Francisco or SoHo in New York were there alone. They came from all over the United States, fleeing persecution in their small home towns and families. They didn't go home for Christmas, and their parents didn't visit for Thanksgiving. Quarter phone calls to confirm life was typically the only contact that the men of scattered gay heartlands of the United States had with the family that raised them until that quarterly call was finally made from a hospital bed while a loving boyfriend or friend was run off his feet trying to make everything okay. And if anyone ever came, all they saw was yellowing death consuming the life they had once loved.

That wasn't the image he ever want to be part of his reality. If his family was to ever feel like _his _again, he wanted to be healthy for it. And he hated the idea of everything being on Kurt. He was good at it but he shouldn't be.

So he had to say something and he had to say it now.

"No, no. I have to do this. I can do this," he said equally for him and his boyfriend. He gave Kurt's hand a squeeze where it was still resting on his knee and opened the car door with the other. He stepped out and walked towards the trailer door. He took a deep breath and knocked. It was quiet and he thought then that maybe they had come too early and that Rachel was probably still asleep. She hadn't gotten home until at least after nine last night so she probably worked evenings. He thought of walking back to the car and telling all this to Kurt but instead, he knocked again. This time, louder.

It was quiet again but then came some clattering. "If you're going to stay out all night, at least remember your key," came a not so happy voice from inside and then the door was opening. "Blaine!"

"Uh, hey," he greeted hesitantly, not being quite able to read her shock.

She crossed her arms awkwardly across her body still only dressed in the thin tank top and matching shorts she had presumably slept in. "What, what're you doing here," she asked.

"Oh, you know, had some vacation days so Kurt and I thought we'd come up for a visit," he smiled nodding to the car.

"Must be nice to get vacation," she huffed.

"Well when I get to spend it with you." He reached out and nudged her arm. "Come'ere." She smiled then at his out stretched arms and it was really the only hint of recognition Blaine had of the little sister he had grown up with since she had opened the door.

"Well, come in, I guess," she said as she pulled back from his hug. "Kurt too. I didn't know you were back together by the way. But yeah, I'm just going to throw some clothes on."

"Okay," he answered, turning back to the car to get Kurt, with a smile on his face.


End file.
